


Sympathy for the Devil

by Saphie3243



Series: Sympathy for the Devil [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Nesta POV, Slow Burn, gender roles are a bitch, it's in chapter 4, it's the tomas thing, no beta we die like men, preACOSF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 197,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphie3243/pseuds/Saphie3243
Summary: “Young women don’t run”“Young women don’t get dirty”“Young women don’t raise their voice.”Retelling of A Court of Thorns and Roses series, told through Nesta's perspective.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Sympathy for the Devil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928338
Comments: 419
Kudos: 292





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I uh, read A Court of Thorns and Roses, and Nesta quickly became one of my favorites. She an absolute mess and I wanted to explore a bit more of the why.
> 
> I'm sure this has been done, but the prologue was so stuck in my head that I had to take a stab at it. 
> 
> Fic will be mostly cannon-compliant, mostly just challenging the limited Feyre POV.

“Ladies don’t run” 

“Ladies don’t get dirty”

“Ladies don’t raise their voice”

“Ladies don’t chew with their mouth open”

“Ladies don’t read that much” 

“Ladies don’t need to learn to fight”

“Ladies don’t let people see them in less than their best”

“Ladies don’t ask that many questions” 

“Ladies don’t speak unless they are spoken to” 

* * *

Nesta hated her mother. 

Her stupid, miserable, drunk of a mother. The bitch who wasted her days away drinking and partying and then drinking some more. Who was imperious and cold, who stifled Nesta’s entire being into her rigid education.

She hated her father. 

Her useless fucking father, who simply watched her mother drink herself to death and did nothing. Who let his children go hungry and his baby girl hunt alone in the woods. 

She hated the society they grew up in, the men and women who would gossip about how they needed to buy more alcohol when the Archeron matron came to visit. But never bothered to care enough to talk to her about it. 

She loved her mother.

Imperial and strong, guiding Nesta through all the lessons she would need to be a lady herself one day. The woman who tried to talk to her daughters every morning. Before the drinks. Before the tears, the agony, the lumps on her breasts, the ones in her throat made sobriety too unbearable. She was dying for years. The alcohol blocking the pain, the reality of her slow death, the reality that her husband was just willing to let her go. 

She loved her father. 

The man who snuck her out horseback riding. The man who used to hide her from the governess and mother when she came in covered in mud. The man who curled up with her and Elain on each leg and read to them. The man who answered every question. 

But one. 

Why not send for more doctors? 

Most of all, she hated the orders her mother gave them. 

To Little Feyre, to give her purpose:

_“Stay together, and look after them”_

To Sweet Elain, to bring them sweetness: 

_“Keep smiling”_

And to Nesta, to lead by example: 

_“Remember you’re a lady”_

  
  


She never forgot. 

When they were cold and needed firewood. 

_“Ladies don’t get dirty”_

She put the ax down and bundled up in more blankets. 

Feyre chopped kindling.

When she was down to one dress and hastily repaired-shoes.

_“Ladies don’t let people see them in less than their best.”_

She spent their money on new shoes. 

Feyre accepted the torn hand-me-downs with a smile. 

When their father’s debtors knocked down the door, ready to cripple him. 

_“Ladies don’t raise their voice.”_

She grabbed her sisters and hid in the bedroom. 

Feyre ran out, screaming and begging for mercy. 

When they were starving and needed to start hunting. 

_“Ladies do not need violence”_

She just stared at the bow and arrow for an hour, unable to move. 

Feyre went hunting. 


	2. Provider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1-3 (well half of 3)

_ Useless _ . 

Whether that thought was directed to her father, her sister, or herself, she didn’t know. Nesta sat by the hearth, trying to thaw hands that were too stiff with cold. She  _ had _ woken up this morning determined to chop wood. But she couldn’t get her damn hands to close properly, to grip the fucking ax. 

So she came inside and started a fire with what little was left. 

Started it. Past noon. 

Because Feyre left early to hunt, and Elain was braiding her perfect hair, and her father wasn’t capable of working up the motivation to tend to the fire. Or walk. Or think about walking. Or think.

So she started the fire and waited for her fingers to be able to bend again. 

Elain asked her to go to town tomorrow, the merchants would be in.

“ _ Thomas _ would be there, he might be buying the ring!”

_ I’d rather he buy us dinner. _

“Ring?” her father asked. Nesta shot him a look, warning him to butt out. 

“I don’t know if he will be buying it or using a family ri-” 

The sound of Feyre’s boots hitting the door jam stopped her cold. 

_ Fuck, I haven’t gotten the wood yet.  _

The door opened and in she stalked, lanky, filthy, covered in blood and snow, and hauling a doe wrapped tenuously in the largest wolf pelt Nesta had ever seen. 

_ Dammit.  _

“Where did you get that?” Elain asked. 

“Where do you think I got it?” it would have had more bite if her voice wasn’t so hoarse, so tired, so old. She turned back to peel off the shoes that hadn’t fit in years. Nesta glanced back at her father, hoping, stupidly, that he might notice how dangerously red his youngest daughter's toes were. 

He didn’t. Nesta was long past feeling surprised at the disappointment. 

“Will it take you long to clean it?”

Annoyance danced past the exhaustion in Feyre’s eyes. She didn’t answer Elain. The answer didn’t matter anyway. They weren’t going to starve tonight. 

_ Dammit _ . 

“Feyre,” he waited until Feyre turned back and looked at him. “What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast,” he smiled at her. 

Nesta couldn’t hold back her scoff. 

_ It wasn’t luck you useless sack of shit.  _

No, Feyre didn’t need luck. She had skills.  _ He  _ needed luck. The luck that kept his youngest daughter around, that she hadn’t given up yet, that she was capable of keeping them alive through sheer force of will. 

When he wouldn’t. 

Feyre turned her glare to Nest as she straightened herself out against the table. Nesta glared back.  _ The fuck are you looking at me for?  _

“We can eat half the meat this week. We can dry the other half,” she took a deep breath and said, holding Nesta’s gaze, but not still not really speaking to her, “And I’ll go to the market tomorrow to see how much I can get for the hides,”

_ Ah.  _

She knew a fight about the money was brewing. Nesta looked over at Feyre’s boots, too small, too frayed, and too worn to be of much use, and then at her own. She looked down at her baby sister’s feet - red and swollen, marked from where the flesh squeezed against what seams remained. She looked back tot her perfectly polished boots, meticulously maintained, just a little too big for Feyre, but the extra room would be good for extra socks. 

And she’d never buy them for herself.

Nesta rose, trying to gather her mother’s imperious tone, declaring “I need a new pair of boots”...right as Elain asked for a new cloak. 

Nesta clicked her tongue at her sister. Elain was still too soft for this life, too much a child despite being in her second decade now. When she started whining, Nesta’s temper and hunger got the better of her. 

“Shut Up!” 

Elain’s face froze in a perfect doe-eyed panic. Momentarily, Nesta felt guilt for yelling. Elain  _ did _ need a new cloak. But the pelt would only get so much money and those shoes needed to last. Even if Thomas proposed like he hinted he might, the Mandray’s didn’t have much money either. The opportunity to explain her reasoning further died when she heard that shit-sack father actually try to scold Feyre. For keeping them alive. 

“Feyre… the risk” he said.  _ The RISK? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s always been a risk you useless, moronic, -  _

“I had no choice,” Feyre snapped back. Her words were curt and sharp, but her eyes- she looked at the floor. She was backing down. She was right, but she was backing down. She was bowing to him. She was bowing to the useless man who was killing the best parts of Feyre like he killed the best parts of her mother. Her shoulders curved in, she was shivering, covered in frosted blood. 

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”

The words were probably too harsh. But Feyre looked Nesta in the eye. She was angry. Good. Better angry than defeated. Better angry than giving up. 

“Take those disgusting clothes off,” another biting order. But it stoked the embers of Feyre’s anger. Stoked it enough that she actually was able to pick a fight with Nesta before she finally went to change into something dry, if not warm. 

Nesta chopped the wood before dawn, stiff hands be damned. 

* * *

The market was always torture. Everything they wanted, but couldn’t have. Spices, sugar, flour. The temptation to flirt with a stall worker, to debase herself for just a taste of pepper always set Nesta on edge with shame. 

Shame and guilt. And then a little anger. At Feyre and Isaac. At Thomas Mandray. 

So when the Children of the Blessed so graciously offered themselves up at the altar of Nesta’s bad mood, she was more than willing to sharpen her claws on their ridiculous piety. 

“Have you a moment to spare so that you might hear the Word of the Blessed?” the pale woman asked. Her tone as cloying as the ridiculous bells on her wrist. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if silver shackles somehow made up for slavery and torment. 

_ Rings do for most women.  _

“No, we don’t,” Nesta answered, guiding Elain away. Feyre had already walked off. Good. She can sell the pelt better without Elain’s incipit kindness undermining her haggling. 

“It would take but a minute,” the woman said, stepping into Nesta’s path. 

“Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You’ll find no converts here.” Nesta spat at her, flashing the iron cuff she always wore. The only armor she was ever allowed to wear. The acolyte backed up in horror.  _ Oh come on, you’re not even going to play, you coward? “Y _ ou see this?” Nesta hissed, taking a step forward. The acolyte kept retreating. _ “ _ This is what you should be wearing. Not some silver bells to attract those faerie monsters. _ ” _

_.  _

“How dare you wear that vile affront to our immortal friends—” 

“Go preach in another town,” Nesta dismissed _. Go die at your precious faeries’ hands.  _

Another woman came in, re-educating this poor idiot on the basics of history. The dangers of Fae cruelty. Nesta agreed with every word, though part of her wished she’d been allowed to fillet the acolyte all on her own. Maybe if she’d been allowed to the woman wouldn’t have summoned her courage to argue. 

“I lived in such ignorance, too, until I heard the Word of the Blessed. I grew up in a village so similar to this—so bleak and grim. But not one month ago, a friend of my cousin went to the border as our offering to Prythian—and she has not been sent back. Now she dwells in riches and comfort as a High Fae’s bride, and so might you, if you were to take a moment to—” 

“She was likely eaten,” Nesta said. “That’s why she hasn’t returned.”

How these idiots believed monsters gods, Nesta could never understand. How they fully believed such dangerous lies, the truth was mercy. A brutal, satisfying mercy. 

“Our benevolent masters would never harm us. Prythian is a land of peace and plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you would be glad to live amongst them.”

_ Gladder to die amongst them. _ Nesta almost said, but Feyre came back and diffused the situation before Nesta said anything she actually might regret. 

The familiar embarrassment of being saved by her baby sister flamed Nesta’s cheeks, and she stalked off, ignoring whatever else Feyre had to say. 

She spotted Thomas and his brutes easily, skulking around the side of the market, waiting to cause trouble. He noted her vaguely walking his direction and broke off to intercept. 

He didn’t even bother with a proper greeting as he placed his arm in front of her face, his hand against the side of the building, his gaze directly on her chest. Thomas didn’t even pretend to look elsewhere, whenever he talked to her. 

Nesta made it a point to never be alone with him. 

“Hello Thomas,” she didn’t quite smile up at him, but she didn’t grimace. He wasn’t looking at her face anyway. 

“Enjoying the market?” he asked. He meant it to be mocking. But at least her stomach didn’t growl as she said yes. 

Let him mock, let him be convinced Nesta would be as desparate to be married to him as he was to fuck her. He was awful, truly, but he was interested, and his family had a farm that would keep her fed. Elain and Feyre, too, if she played her cards right. 

What would bruises be to Feyre not needed to step into those woods again? To Elain’s stomach not aching from hunger again? 

Nesta wasn’t capable of hunting animals. But men? 

Thomas missed the dark gleam in her eyes as she touched his shoulder and agreed with his statement about a wife’s place in the home. 

Nesta could hunt men just fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave reviews/critiques.
> 
> I wanted to play a bit more with Nesta - especially since how we see her in the early chapters of ACOTAR are so one-sided, and in conflict to what we see/learn in later books. I don't nesta-cerily want to make her less of a bitch, but I do want to make her less of a disney villain in the early chapters. Figure since I'm mostly cannon-compliant, it would be a fun exercise.


	3. Beasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warning and an abduction.

10 minutes talking to Thomas is already ten more minutes than any woman should be stuck talking to Thomas. So when Elain called out to Nesta, she wasn’t entirely sorry for an excuse to leave him. 

Though the hungry look he shot Elain was enough for Nesta to wish her sister hadn’t just given her an out. And it was enough to cause Nesta to stroke his jaw, to draw those horrible eyes back to her face, to kiss the corner of his mouth before he noticed she wasn’t smiling. 

“Looks like I have to go,” she said. 

“Not for much longer though,” he answered back. His hand brazenly dropped to her ass. It took all of her self-control to keep from shivering at that touch. But she found it in her to make a noise that was non-committal enough to potentially be construed for a moan and twisted out of his embrace. 

Only to immediately spot yet another site that had her stomach drop out of her belly. She linked arms with Elain as she made a bee line to her youngest sister. 

“Why is she by her?” Nesta hissed. 

“I don’t know, but she went right to her,” Elain answered, a little panicked but equally hushed. 

Nesta didn’t give Feyre any warning as she snatched her wrist and yanked her away from the mercenary. The broad woman was smiling at her, and had the gall to wave as they left. 

“They’re dangerous,” Nesta could hardly believe she needed to warn her but, “Don’t go near them again.” But Feyre ignored Nesta, studying the middle sister instead.

“Is there something I need to know?” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Nesta didn’t want to go into the details, and part of her really didn’t believe that she would have to. That Feyre, with all her survival skills, was so incapable of sensing the danger right in front of her. 

“They’re brutes, and will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force,” Nesta answered. Leaving out what else they would take by force.. 

“She robbed you?” That incredulous tone told Nesta all she needed to know about Feyre’s opinion of her new friend. 

“Not her,” Elain was quiet. Damn Feyre for making her tell the story. “Some other one who passed through. We had only a few coins, and he got mad, but—” 

“Why didn’t you report him—or tell me?”  _ And send a lamb to the slaughter, absolutely not. _

“What could you have done?” Nesta poured disdain into her tone, “Challenged him to a fight with your bow and arrows? And who in this sewer of a town would even care if we reported anything?”

“What about your Thomas Mandray?” Nesta didn’t really want to say out loud that Thomas would only have been disappointed that she’d toss out coins to keep Elain from getting raped. So when she spotted Isaac waiting for Feyre in the spot they thought was non-conspicuous, she took the opportunity to deflect. 

“Your friend is waiting for you,” and because she never got out of her bad mood, she decided to add with a sneer, ““I do hope you two are taking precautions.” 

  
  


“It’s a bit late to pretend to care,” Feyre shoved a coin in Nesta’s palm, before turning on her heel, the implication clear as day. Feyre could have slapped her and it would have hurt less. “I’ll see you at home.” Nesta let her go, debating the merits of convincing Feyre that she just didn’t like the new boots she was about to buy. 

But when she got to the cobbler and found that she couldn’t afford them, she almost cried. But she didn’t. 

Instead, she followed Elain to another merchant, almost slapping her when she saw the chisel she was buying. But she didn’t. 

She just pocketed the rest of the money and hoped Feyre could scrounge up more by the next market. She cut extra firewood for her that night.

* * *

They had venison for dinner. And when Feyre asked where the money went. Nesta was vague, but she let Feyre’s basement-level opinion of her do most of the work. Let her think Nesta spent all the money on candy or something. Elain didn’t contradict Nesta’s story, or assert that she saw the change get pocketed. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time Nesta purposefully lost the coins she “pocketed”. Just to see if her father would do anything about it. He didn’t. 

Elain did ask if Nesta had lost the money, though. Quietly when Feyre was busy sulking over her water. 

Nesta quietly answered that she was saving it, and didn’t want Feyre, or their father, knowing. And to keep her from spilling the beans, “Feyre needs boots,” was all she said. Elain nodded then. It wasn’t uncommon for them at this point. 8 years of poverty and made them a hand-me-down family, and they didn’t break the habit even after they all reached adulthood. Items when to Nesta, then Elain, then Feyre. And if something of Feyre’s was getting too old, they’d start the chain again. 

Nesta was aware that this system was more than a little unfair to Feyre, but she was also aware that 1) she liked new things better than used and 2) if she changed the order now, then Feyre might be too suspicious to accept the new item. 

It was during this little conversation that a beast rudely knocked down their door and upturned their life. The roar was deafening. 

**“MURDERERS!”**

The beast was enormous, a lion the size of a horse, its claws ended in talons, horns curled devilishly from behind its ears, it’s snarl posing teeth the size of Nesta’s fingers. 

But it was the physical that had Nesta grabbing Elain and forming a human barrier. IT wasn’t those teeth that badee Nesta to allow her father to step in front of her. It wasn’t its voice that had her stuttering over her words, trying to deny its accusation. No, it was a golden aura that ebbed off of the monster in waves, the orange hue that illuminated its fur, the sheer power that emanated from this beast. 

And stupid little Feyre stepped out to face it, with a knife. 

A knife that wouldn’t do anything. Couldn’t she see that?

Shaking and unsure, Nesta raised her gauntlet. She held it over her head, in front of both her and Elain. She stole a glance at Feyre. 

_ Hunt it, I’ll protect Elain, you take care of it.  _

She attacked. 

It did nothing. 

The Beast swatted the knife out of Feyre’s hand. Feyre jumped back before it could pounce on her, but Nesta just froze, watching, understanding that her little cuff wasn’t going to save them. That this creature could kill them so, so easily. 

“WHO KILLED HIM?” It roared again. This time, behind the roar, despite her fear, Nesta could pick up on guilt, the sorrow in its voice. She knew those sounds too damn well. Broken and mourning, this beast was lashing out. And that made it all the more dangerous. 

Feyre may have picked up on it, too. She didn’t try for the knife again as she asked, calmly, “Killed who?”    
  


THE WOLF. 

_ FUCK.  _

Elain screamed and Nesta clamped a hand over her mouth, willing her to shut up. To not betray what Feyre did. 

_ Ladies don’t raise their voice. _

“A wolf?” Feyre asked. Nesta kept her hand on Elain’s mouth as she whimpered. Good, good, Feyre sold the pelt already, There was no proof she killed the wolf. They just needed to play this very carefully. 

“A large wolf with a gray coat,” it answered. Feyre looked at the ground as she responded. 

“If it was mistakenly killed, what payment could we offer in exchange?” 

The beast began to pace, which was better than attacking. Good. Feyre’s can handle this. They just need to stay out of her way and let her fix this mess. 

_ Coward _

“The payment you must offer is the one demanded by the Treaty between our realms,” it answered. Nesta’s head shot up. She’d read the treaty from top to bottom as a child. As they all had. 

“For a wolf?” Feyre retorted. 

“Feyre,” their father mumbled. Nesta willed him to shut up. Let Feyre talk, let her finish this. There is nothing about humans paying for animal or fae lives in the treaty. Let Feyre handle this. 

“Who killed the wolf?” It asked again, quieter, more in control. 

Feyre held its gaze as she answered. “I did”. 

It didn’t seem to believe her. It looked between Feyre, their father, and Nesta. It’s eyes narrowing at her. 

“Surely you lie to save them.” 

“We didn’t kill anything!” Elain twisted from under Nesta’s palm to beg. “Please … please, spare us!” Nesta wrestled control back over her sister and shoved Elain behind her. Their father, their useless father tried to walk forward, limping heavily. They looked so pathetic, so weak compared to Feyre, she didn’t need to repeat herself for the beast to know which one of them would even be capable of killing the wolf. 

“I killed it.” The beast turned its attention to Feyre once more. “I sold its hide at the market today. If I had known it was a faerie, I wouldn’t have touched it.”

“Liar,” it spat. “You knew. You would have been more tempted to slaughter it had you known it was one of my kind.” Nesta would have. 

“Can you blame me?” Feyre challenged. 

“Did it attack you? Were you provoked?” It snarled at her again.

No,” she snarled right back. “But considering all that your kind has done to us, considering what your kind still likes to do to us, even if I had known beyond a doubt, it was deserved.”

The beast deafening growl drowned out Nesta’s own grumble of approval. Feyre was going to die. But she wasn’t going to die a coward. 

Nesta was. 

Nesta would die a sniveling coward, but hopefully it would give Elain time to run. 

“What is the payment the Treaty requires?” 

“A life for a life. Any unprovoked attacks on faerie-kind by humans are to be paid only by a human life in exchange.

_ Liar!  _ Nesta wanted to scream at him, but the words died in her throat. When did she start shaking? 

“I didn’t know,” Feyre all but mumbled. “Didn’t know about that part of the Treaty.” Nesta wanted to rage at it, call it out for the liar it was. That was not part of the treaty. But the words died in her throat. 

_ Ladies do not contradict their lords.  _

“Most of you mortals have chosen to forget that part of the Treaty,” Nesta swore she saw a sickening smile break on his face, “which makes punishing you far more enjoyable.”

“Do it outside, not… here,” Feyre’s voice was so small, trembling so much. She was so young.  _ Was she always so young? _

“Willing to accept your fate so easily?” It laughed. “For having the nerve to request where I slaughter you, I’ll let you in on a secret, human: Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it. So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like swine, or … you can cross the wall and live out the remainder of your days in Prythian.”

The option hung in the air as it clarified its point. 

“You can either die tonight or offer your life to Prythian by living in it forever, forsaking the human realm.”

They were all silent. Trying to process the order, trying to determine what was worse. Nesta stared at this monster, at the power that rolled off of it, at a cruel, smiling snarl. She swore she saw Thomas Mandray in that smile. 

“Do it Feyre, go” Their father dismissed her. Nesta wanted to rip out his throat, but it wasn’t a surprise. He was always going to sell off his daughters. 

_ COWARD. USELESS. SPINELESS. WEAK. COWARD.  _

_ Ladies do not raise their voice.  _

_ DO SOMETHING _

And then… he begged. He begged for Feyre’s life. He did something. Something far too little and far too late. 

_ Why didn't you do something?  _

Nesta squeezed Elain’s arm so hard it must be bruising. But she did not look away as Feyre agreed to go. Feyre was going to die, and Nesta was going to watch. She was going to take in every detail, watch every moment, and she was going to remember her sister, her sacrifice. 

Nesta watched as Feyre turned to them. It was her mother speaking. Her mother’s perfectly calm, stately tone and steely eyes that left them instructions. 

“I left the money from the pelts on the dresser. “It will last you for a time, if you’re careful. When spring comes, hunt in the grove just south of the big bend in Silverspring Creek—the rabbits make their warrens there. Ask … ask Isaac Hale to show you how to make snares. I taught him last year.” 

Feyre turned to Nesta, and the world stilled. The beheld each other, both too much like their mother and too proud to admit how much it killed them.

“Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. His father beats his wife, and none of his sons do anything to stop it. Bruises are harder to conceal than poverty.” 

Nesta nodded and did not look away. She did not cry like Elain or beg like her father. She didn’t try to say any last words or offer any solace. She just etched the vision of Feyre walking next to that beast into her mind and blocked out everything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the strict cannon chapters for a bit. Time to find out what the sisters dealt with while Feyre was getting much needed rest in the Spring Court. 
> 
> Please leave reviews/feedback.


	4. Glamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta realizes Elain and her father are under a glamor, and has her own broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Assault and attempted rape - It's the Tomas Mandray scene
> 
> Stop reading after the line break to skip.

It took Nesta a minute or two, to come back into herself. To actually take in her surroundings. To note how fucking cold it was with door blown off. To hear the harmonizing scream-sobs tearing their way through her sister and father. 

  
  


Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Feyre was gone, and she needed to straighten her spine and get her shit together. She turned back to her family, ready to scold them into shutting up and getting to work. 

When she realized they weren’t crying anymore. 

“We’ll get a new door,” Elain stated, studying the door that lay in pieces on the floor. Nesta looked her sister up and down. Her hair was the same limp mess it was just moments ago, tear tracks still ran down her cheeks, her eyes were still red, and her voice was still hoarse from screaming. But her expression, she seemed… normal. 

Maybe Nesta underestimated her. Maybe Elain was trying to be strong for Nesta. 

“We can go to town in the morning,” Nesta answered, continuing to look her sister up and down. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Elain sighed, “What a time for Feyre to be gone.” 

Nesta’s blood ran colder than the winter winds. 

“How could you say that?”

“Elain, we should be happy for her.”   
  


Nesta’s hand moved before she fully processed what she heard. The clap of her hand finally contacting her father’s face was the most beautiful sound she ever heard.  
  


_“Ladies do not fight”_

Her mother’s voice scolded her. But she couldn’t heed it. Not today. Not after Feyre was taken. Not when he was making this out to be a _good thing._

“Nesta!” Elain scolded. Her voice cracking. “I know you’re jealous, but it’s not like taking care of Aunt Ripliegh will be _that_ easy for her!” 

“What?” _Who the fuck is Aunt Ripliegh?_ Nesta turned to her sister, looking into her eyes once more, looking, and this time, seeing. 

Elain wasn’t trying to be strong. She simply wasn’t upset. She wasn’t mourning. Feyre was taken, and Elain didn’t seem to care. 

“Besides,” Elain went on, “Feyre deserves a break.” 

Nesta wanted to scream. _Ladies do not raise their voice._ She wanted to grab Elain and shake her. _Ladies do not rough house._ She wanted to go grab Feyre from that monster. _Ladies do not run._ But mostly, Nesta wanted to cry. 

So she took in a deep breath, and began reeling in her emotions. Panic, horror, loss, guilt, shameful relief, more guilt, and she pushed them down. They felt like lead weights on her ankles, but her head felt clear. And she thought it through. 

Feyre was taken. By a Fae. 

Seemingly a powerful Fae. 

It was dark already. 

Running after her now would be suicide. 

Elain didn’t know Feyre was taken. She seemed to think Feyre was with this... Aunt Ripliegh. Likely some fae magic. 

Nesta needed to learn more information. Nesta needed to get help. Nesta needed… Nesta needed Feyre. 

That sickening guilt and shame began to creep up her ankles, like something was pulling on her limbs, strangling her.. She took another deep breath and slammed those emotions down. _Think_ . _Think_. 

_Ladies do not ask so many questions._

“Come, let’s clean this mess up and go to bed,” Elain offered, placing a hand on Nesta’s shoulder. 

Nesta looked at that hand, calloused from her gardening, but still so gentle. Then at her own, worn and swollen - less so Elain’s - yet so much harsher. 

Past that hand, she saw the table leg on the floor. The leg that Feyre painted with blue flowers and green vines. She bent down and picked it up. The upper part was marred with claws marks from that Fae. 

“What hap- how did the table get like this?” she asked carefully. 

Elain’s hand went to her cheek as she cocked her head and answered. Nesta saw something like fear flash in her eyes and then mellow, as if a memory was being wiped away and remade. 

“Such a strong gale, like I’d never seen before, it must have knocked the door into the table,” she mused. “Lucky we were all by the fire,” 

“Very lucky,” their father repeated. “And that Feyre is with your Aunt.” 

Nesta gripped the leg, ignoring the splinters that dug into her palm. 

“It’s late, let’s finish clearing up and head to bed - at least we will have a door there.” 

Nesta slipped the table leg into her dress and helped clean up the rest of the debris. 

Their father huddled by the hearth all night, while Nesta followed Elain to bed. She slipped the table leg into her drawer, and couldn’t shake the image of feeding kindling to those flames. 

She did not sleep that night, holding her sister as close as possible, praying to any ancient being that the morning might bring fresh answers. 

  
  


* * *

Elain woke up in Nesta’s arms. Her sister seemed to reach for Feyre, but found her spot on the bed empty. Nesta studied her sister’s face, and saw no panic, no worry, just soft confusion and then realization. 

Feyre was with “Aunt Ripleigh”. 

Nesta drug herself out of bed and over to the dresser. She opened Feyre’s drawer, the drawer covered in stars, and started pawing through it. There, hidden in her underwear, was a small bag of coppers. Nesta picked it up, it only contained a handful of coppers, not much at all. 

But with the pelt money, it would have been enough to buy those boots. 

Nesta pushed the thought from her head and pocketed the change. It would be enough for a door. 

She left her room to find Elain already by the fireplace, cooking some of the venison Feyre had caught. 

“I’ll go to town today and see about a door,” Nesta stated. 

“Hm,” was all her father said, huddled next to Elain. No panic, no worry, not that she would have expected it otherwise. But whatever magic had bewitched them still held. So Nesta fixed her hair, straightened her dress, and went to put on her boots. 

They were stiff and wet from being by the doorway all night. Cold and heavy on her feet. Utterly miserable to wear. 

_Good._

Nesta began the walk to town. There wasn’t going to be much in the way of merchants since the Market was only on Saturdays, but she could maybe find someone willing to sell them wood for a door today. 

And she could ask about Feyre, if anyone heard the commotion. 

She passed the Mandray farm, when she sensed someone approaching her. 

“Hello, Nessie,” she heard Tomas croon from behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. “I heard there was some excitement at your house yesterday, you alright?” 

His hand reached up to her cheek and turned her face up to him. She watched as he studied her face for a moment, a moment longer than normal, and dropped his gaze to her bosom. 

_Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray._

“I’m fine,” she answered. He hummed. “It seems our door took a beating.” 

“I heard, a wind knocked it into a table and split it clear in half,” another voice responded. Marcus, one of Tomas’s brothers. She hadn’t realized he was there too. 

Word has spread quickly then. Too quickly. 

“Shame that Feyre left before it could get fixed,” Tomas added. He knew about Feyre, too, then. 

Nesta nodded, looking back at Tomas, waiting for him to offer to help. He didn’t. 

“But at least your father will soon have two daughters out of the house,” he added with a slimy smile, his hand stroked down her cheek to her jaw. 

_Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray._

She swallowed, remembering herself. “Will he?” she asked, trying and failing to soften her features. 

“He might…” Tomas reached down and grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” 

She didn’t need to ask where he was taking her. It was “their place”. One of his family’s fields, dotted with stacks of hay. They could be "alone" there, but not isolated. They would talk there, sometimes. Once they kissed there. Not more than that though. Nesta would never let someone touch her before marriage. It was all she had to bargain with. 

He led her away from his brother, from the house, from the town, to their private little field. 

“Are you actually ok?” he asked again, gently. So gentle, when they were alone, Tomas was gentle- sweet, even. But only when he wanted … 

_Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray. ‘_

“I will be,” she answered. And he leaned it for the kiss. 

She allowed it. Even put her hand on his chest.

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10_

And then she pulled back. 

“I have to go,” soft voice, not too husky. Polite. 

“Stay,” he put his hand on the small of her back. 

“I need to find supplies for the door,” she tried to turn away. His hand gripped her dress. 

“Nessie, it can wait.” 

“It can’t.” She started to walk a bit further away, and he grabbed her hand. His grip aggravated the cuts from that table leg. 

_Whatever you do, don’t marry Tomas Mandray._

“Nessie, you said we’d spend more time together.”

Her expression hardened as she took a breath. 

“I’m sorry Tomas, but I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” The deepening of his tone sent chills up her spine, but Nesta held firm. 

“I can’t marry you. Feyre is gone, I have to take care of Elain.” 

“It will be easier to take care of her when you are my wife.” He squeezed tighter and she failed to keep the wince from her face. 

“Tomas, I’m saying no,” she tried to wrench her hand free but he gripped harder, squeaking at the pain.

“No?” he laughed as he spoke. “After all the run around you gave me, you think you can say no?” 

She pulled her expression back to it’s usually arrogant control. 

“I’m saying it, aren’t I?” 

“You stuck up bitch,” he pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, pinning her other arm to her side. “You really think you are going to do better than me?”   
  


“Get your hands off of me,” she spat at him. He reached up and yanked on her hair, forcing her to look up at him. 

“All you have is your pretty body Nessie,” he whispered before biting her neck hard enough to break skin.

“Stop,” Nesta ordered, trying to get control back.

“I should have just taken it a year ago.” he spun her around, pinning her arms behind with one hand while the other groped her chest. 

“Let go of me,” Nesta’s tone was firm yet laced with panic. He seized the collar of her dress and jerked it down, ripping the fabric and exposing her chemise. 

All thought left her head at that sound. All guilt, all shame, all anger, all gone. Only blinding fear. 

_Ladies do not raise their voice._

“LET GO OF ME!” She yelled it this time. 

He licked her neck as he put his hand down her chemise, fondling a breast. _Ladies do not rough house._ She started thrashing, yelling more. He just bent her over. Nesta felt his legs force hers apart. He was really going to do it. 

_He was really going to take it._ The last thing she had. The only thing she had to barter for marriage. 

He loosened the grip on her arms to hike up her skirts. An opportunity. Nesta’s hand shot down to the ground, to a rock. She picked it up and spun around as quickly as possible, slamming the stone into his head. 

She fell on her side as he let go. Sobbing, panting, Nesta crawled away as quickly as possible. As soon as she could get her feet under her she was running. Running as fast as she could, back to that stupid hut. 

_Ladies do not run._

_Yeah, well, fuck you mom._


	5. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta decides to pursue Feyre to Pyrinthian.

Nesta slowed down as she got closer to the hut. She took a deep breath and wrapped her cloak entirely around herself. No one could see the rip in her gown. No one would be the wiser. 

She stalked into her little hut, past her father, carving useless trash, past her sister, trying to figure out how to dry the venison, right into their room and slammed the door shut. 

Her legs gave out almost immediately. Slumped behind the barricade of the bedroom door, Nesta found herself shaking. She couldn't stop it. All the emotions she'd been wearing as ankle weights stormed through her. 

Tears fell down her cheeks, snot dripped from her nose, and Nesta fell apart. Feyre was gone. Taken. Tomas was going to rape her. The fucking door was still broken. Elain didn't remember anything. And her goddamn favorite dress was ripped. 

  
  


She sat there for what could have been minutes or hours, falling apart. She sat there waiting. 

Just like she did when she was 17 and starving. Too hungry to move. Too angry to try. Watching their father sit in his goddamn chair. Ready to die for her stubbornness. Then Feyre walked in the house with a rabbit. 

Nesta didn’t even know she had gone hunting. Didn’t know where or when she learned how. But they ate that night. They got money from the pelt. They didn’t die. Feyre had made sure of it. 

And she was gone. 

Worse. 

She was with the fae. 

Nesta looked at her ripped dress and remembered all of the worst stories about what the fae did with their human slaves. She threw up venison all over the already ruined dress. With a shuddering breath, she got up and started changing. 

Her father was more than a little startled when the bedroom door burst open. She dumped the stupid ruined dress in the fireplace. The orange flames danced as silver in her ice-blue eyes. She turned those flames into steel walls as she locked up the panic, the sorrow, the terror. 

“We can use the pieces of the table to repair the door ourselves,” Nesta said. “Save some money.” 

* * *

Nesta waited in bed next to Elain until the sky was starting to turn to grey. She dressed as quickly as possible. 

_ Two days. Too late, dammit.  _

She snuck out before dawn, leaving only a note for Elain. A promise to return home as soon as possible. She took all of the money from that stupid wolf pelt, stuffed her feet into the boots that should have been Feyre’s, and and took as much venison as she could carry. 

As little as Elain could spare. 

She marched to town as quickly as possible, cutting around and avoiding the Mandray farm. The shitty tavern the mercenaries stayed in was fairly empty. Most of the mercs were still in bed, trying to fend off the winter frost. But there were a few up already, eating what the tavern passed for breakfast. Good, the ones that could wake early despite the weather were the only ones Nesta was interested in. 

“Who here can take me to the Wall?” Nesta asked. 

One too-burly woman spat out her ale. 

“Why on earth would you want to go there?” Nesta narrowed her attention to the woman and glided over. She recognized the fur collar on the woman’s cloak immediately. 

“I have my reasons,” Nesta answered. 

“Well whatever they are, they are not good enough. Go home.” 

“My sister is gone.” 

“I heard, Feyre is living with her Aunt.” 

“How do you know that?” Nesta asked, raising one eyebrow. The mercenary blinked. 

“...I must have heard it around town,” she answered. 

Nesta pulled the table leg from her pack and set it on the bar in front of the Merc. “Feyre didn’t  _ leave _ . She was  _ taken _ . And I’m going to get her back.” 

“Tell me everything.” 

“On the way to the wall,” Nesta replied, holding up a pouch of money. The merc smiled and nodded. 

* * *

Griffin was ready to go in 10 minutes. In 25, they were in the woods. In 45 minutes, Nesta had explained the entire kidnapping of Feyre, as well as her family’s memory lapses. 

“That would be a glamor,” Griffin explained. “Some powerful fae can alter people’s minds, what they see, what they remember,” she looked Nesta up and down, clearly noting that Nesta’s breath was already short. “Must be something impressive about you.”    
  


_ Not really.  _

Nesta focused on walking forward. Her feet were already sore, her fingers were already starting to numb from the cold. She tried to push out the thoughts of Feyre out here alone. Of her being so young. One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving. Get to the wall. Get to Feyre.

It wasn’t so hard, actually. Tiring, sure, but if you ignored the numbness in your toes, the oppressive cold, the stabbing pain that came with each breath, then it wasn’t so bad. Feyre had always been a martyr. Nesta tripped on a tree branch and slammed face first into the ground

_ Well, I deserved that.  _

Griffin hauled her up to her feet. “Stay alert, kid.” 

Nesta wiped the blood from her nose and kept going forward.

They stopped when the sun was just above the horizon. Griffin started getting a fire going, bidding Nesta to set up their tent. She fumbled around, but got the damn thing up. And when she was done, she just huddled as close to her companion as possible. 

_ So fucking cold.  _

“You get used to it.”

“I doubt it.” 

“Yeah we just say that to make people feel better.” 

Nesta cracked a smile at that. 

That was the extent of the conversation. They just ate dinner, and then huddled in the tent, sleeping. They kept the fire burning - for warmth and to keep the wolves away. Nesta lay awake, feeling the exhausting from walking all day and from staying up for two days, but every time sleep pulled her under, she saw that table leg, saw Feyre walking away with that beast, felt Tomas’ grip on her arm, felt her dress rip and clawed her way back to consciousness. 

At the dawn of the third straight night of no sleep, Nesta finally looked as shitty as she felt. A comment that Griffin has no bones about sharing. Nesta practically bit her hand off with her responding snarl. 

Nesta was dead on her feet the entire day, and it was showing. Every step was thrice the effort of the day before. But the chill, the pain, she was so tired, she could barely feel any of it. Numb. That’s what she was. And it was a good place to be. 

No sense feeling any of it. Just be exhausted and numb. Stop when Griffin said to. Hide when she instructed. Walk when she said go. 

And at the end of the second day, They made it to the wall. 

* * *

Gods. 

That’s what built this wall. 

She could feel it. A crackling, humming, wrongness. 

A security blanket. 

A straight jacket.

The wall was an invisible sheet of power, vibrating softly in space. Nesta could feel the power radiating off of it. Pulling her closer, pushing her away. Just being near it was making her queasy. She took another step closer. 

“We can make camp here and search for an opening at first light.” 

Nesta didn’t answer. She walked closer and closer, and felt as though it was tearing her apart. 

_ Go away. Wrong side. Come back. My Same. Not Yet.  _

She put her hand on the wall, and felt lightning spark through her finger tips. It traveled through her veins and shocked her heart, pushing her back and back, all the while shouting in her head. 

_ Not Yet. Not Yet. Not Yet.  _

She was pulled down, down into an inky cold blackness. A sliver of silver power flew around her and she went under. It felt familiar and different. And then that power shot through her head, settling into her eyes before blinking out of existence. And everything went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doo doo doo Healthy Coping Hike doo doo doo
> 
> Wonder if we will need more Healthy Coping Hikes in Court of Silver Flames. 
> 
> Also I finished outlining this piece and we are looking at 30 chapters through all the books. Ending with where A Court of Silver Flames will pick up.
> 
> Hit me up on twitter at Potato_burp


	6. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta wakes up at the Wall and makes a choice.

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.  _

The voice was faint on the wind, but it mixed with the sunlight streaming through the white canvas of the tent and stirred Nesta from her slumber. 

She opened her eyes to see Griffin sitting next to her, staring. The merc's usually messy undercut was more disheveled than usual, like she was drawing her hand through it all night. There were bags under her eyes, her bed roll didn't look slept in. 

“I’ll be honest, from your swaying yesterday, I expected you to faint - just not so violently,” her tone and expression were steady, if a little sarcastic. But the look in her eyes was pure concern. Griffin handed Nesta a canteen as she sat up. She took a swig before responding. 

“What happened?” 

“I should ask you that. One second you were walking to the Wall, the next you were on the ground. Been that way all night.” 

The memory of the power from yesterday, the voice in her head, the thrum of the Wall’s power, came back to her. 

“I... felt the Wall,” Nesta said, “and it… felt me, too.”    
  


“Hm,” Griffin considered, “the Wall is... Unknown. Powerful magic, but all who understand it have long since died. At least on this side of it.” 

Nesta opened the tent flaps again. They were in the same spot they were yesterday when the Wall sang to her. But she did not hear that call. There was still this sense of  _ wrong _ that permeated the area, but it was so much weaker today. 

Perhaps she was just tired yesterday. 

_ Stupid fucking fae and their fucking magic.  _

"We should eat and look for the hole," Nesta finally decided. 

They made quick work of eating and packing up camp. With everything loaded back in their packs, Griffin started leading Nesta closer to the wall once more. 

Like before, the humming grew, but there wasn’t the pull. "There should be a break an hour or so that way," Griffin said. 

"How do you know?"

"We've caught children of the blessed in that area."

"Ah."

"So what are you going to do when you cross?" Griffin didn't hide the condescension from her tone or gaze.

  
  


"Not sure, but they can't lie, and they don't know I'm not glamored. So I'll figure something out," Nesta grumbled. 

"Really thought this through, haven't you?"

"I’ve already seen the worst they have to offer," Nesta answered.

They approached where Griffin believed the breach in the Wall to be. Griffin started to grope around, trying to find it, to see how big the breach was. But Nesta didn't need to debase herself with the ridiculous search. 

Nesta could  _ see  _ it. The breach looked like someone had smashed a hole in the most perfect glass. Broken shards pointed in towards the opening. They seemed lethal.

Nesta felt her throat constrict as she stepped closer to that breach.

_ Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. _

It was as if Prythian itself was calling to her, enticing her to cross over. It was so calming, so lovely, the tightness in her throat relaxed. Yes, this is where she needs to go. She needs to cross, she needs to follow that call. She got to the breach and hiked up her skirt, she lifted her right foot to step over the line when the Wall seemed to grow from the ground and seal the breach. Her foot collided with the newly formed Wall.

_ Not yet.  _

"The breach," Griffin continued to grope around, "I'm sure it's around here." 

Nesta looked around. The breach, it's go- no. It's not gone. It's  _ moved. _

She looked to her right, and the breach was there now. She walked over to the new breach. She watched it slide down the Wall, more to the right. She followed, it kept moving. She ran, it moved faster. She paused, it stopped. she backed up, it stayed in place.

Griffin saw her run and called out, following behind. 

The hum of the Wall pulsed, as though it was  _ laughing  _ at her.

_ Not here. _

Nesta glared at the Wall and considered. She took another step towards the Wall, and it started sliding again. She turned to Griffin. 

"Let's keep going," Nesta called, following that damn breach.

They walked for another full day. When they stopped for a meal, it slid  _ up _ the Wall, hanging 20 feet in the air. "I get it, not here," Nesta mumbled. It was near dark when the breach paused its movement. Nesta slowed her pace as she approached the breach. It still didn’t move. She paused herself in front of the entrance.

Smiling, she started to step through, only to have the Wall closed around her foot.

"Let me pass," she ordered.

The Wall held for another moment, sending a slight shock through Nesta. Bidding her to look up - through the breach, into Prythian, into a dark forest. The Wall let go, but Nesta did not move. There was something moving in those woods, quietly. It was stalking through them. It was... hunting. She watched it for a moment. It did not seem to notice her, but she watched as it came into view. A formless dread appeared in front of her, and she felt the insatiable hunger roll of it. Then it solidified into her mother- drunk and dying, into her father- clutching his ruined knee, into the beast- snarling down at her, into Feyre - walking away.

She felt what the Wall was saying with its stupid game. It’s stupid test.  _ Are you sure? _

It turned into Elain - bruised in the arms of the Tomas Mandray. 

Nesta was afraid. 

And she did not step forward.

_ Coward _

She stepped back.

The monster did not notice her. She took another step back. The breach did not move again.

Nesta kept her eyes on that monster, that clump of her worst fears, and she backed away. When her back bumped into Griffin's chest, she simply said:

"We won't find a breach. Take me home."

_ Failure. _

* * *

They hiked away from the wall, for only a mile or so. Nesta felt herself coated in more shame with every step. The Wall had tested her, shown her what was on the other side, and she couldn't face it. Couldn't take that final step.

She was actually going to let Feyre die. 

Nesta curled in on herself.  _ Useless _

Then a faint green light caught her attention. Nesta looked up to see a green Faerie walk by their camp, carrying a large brown trunk and paying them no heed. Nesta watched it. She was clearly visible, it was clearly visible. Griffin should have noted and told her to hide. Certainly  _ some  _ kind of interaction should - 

_ Oh. She can’t see it. It doesn't know _ I  _ can see it.  _

So Nesta watched it walk through the woods, away from the Wall, towards the village. Nesta watched until it's faint glow disappeared from her view. How often do they come over? Do they just cross for the fun of it? Do they kidnap women like they did Feyre? Whenever people leave, is it because they Fae spirited them off and covered it up?    
  


Nesta wanted to vomit all over again. She put her head between her knees and felt the tears fall. 

Griffin put a hand on Nesta’s back. 

“There was nothing you could have done.” 

“I know.”    
  


“But you still came.” 

“That’s not good enough.”    
  


“It’s not,” Griffin didn’t mince words. But platitudes weren’t worth shit to Nesta. Platitudes weren’t worth much to Griffin either. “Here’s my honest advice, kid. Go home, take care of your other sister, and stay the hell away from Prythian and that Wall.” The harsh tones her voice started taking told Nesta enough. 

“So you noticed, then?”   
  


“A blind man would have noticed,” Griffin quipped, then quickly added, “And I don’t want you to tell me any more.” Nesta nodded, but Griffin continued. “Whatever happened back there, it’s some dangerous shit, worse, it’s some dangerous  _ magical _ shit. And something tells me that knowing anything more than what I saw is going to involve me in it. If you are smart, you will stay far away from the wall and keep yourself out of it, too.” 

Right. 

_ Ladies do not ask so many questions.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Nesta chooses to not save Feyre. I really wanted to give an actual reason for why Nesta ultimately didn't cross the Wall, especially since Feyre finds a hole in like 10 minutes. So I figured I have some fun and pull out the ol' Fae Magic is meant to be mercurial and have some Wall shenanigans. 
> 
> Ultimately, Nesta saw what she would have to face to save Feyre, and couldn't bring herself to do it. 
> 
> Comment/Review/give me feedback, whatever. This is what I did instead of focusing on my job today.


	7. Fraud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta comes home to find a visitor with good tidings, and she gets to reconnect at the market.

“The fuck is this?”

Elain was not expecting that to be her sister’s first words to her in a week. But considering the new dress, gloves, cloak, shoes, earmuffs, and pouch she wore, it shouldn’t have surprised her. 

“Oh Nesta, do come in! We have  _ tea _ !” Leave it to Elain, with all of the new finery, to be most excited about the tea. Their hut was warm inside. A fire was roaring. Despite the drastic change in Elain’s outfit, nothing much changed inside. Except...

Their father wasn’t home. 

And a familiar brown trunk was seated by the hearth. Nesta kept her gaze on that trunk as she asked her next question. 

“Elain, what happened while I was gone?” 

“You will never believe it Nesta, father got a client!” 

Nesta would have sooner believed their father grew a second head to replace the first living in his ass. 

But the sound of footsteps approaching the cottage drew Nesta’s attention. Footsteps and men’s voices. One she knew. One she didn’t. Her father walked-  _ walked _ through the door, leaning on the cane Elain had bought him years ago. One that he had fully decorated in his years as an invalid. That he was walking would have been reason enough for surprise.

  
  


But the shock on her face was completely due to the fact that her father’s companion was  _ green _ . There were flower petals where hair should be, his features were just twists of leaves and vines. Despite his alien appearance, she recognized him. She had seen him leave from the Wall. 

“Oh Nesta, you’re home!” Her father looked startled, embarrassed, and wary.  _ Good _ . “Were you able to catch up to Feyre?” he asked. 

The strange fae studied her as soon as the question was asked. Even with his alien appearance, Nesta could tell what his expression meant, what he was waiting to hear in her response. _They don't see what I see. And_ th ey  _ don’t know that I see.  _ It was her one advantage and she couldn’t lose it now. Nesta recovered herself.

“No, unfortunately the road was completely snowed in just 2 days out of town,” the stranger’s expression relaxed as Nesta spoke. She summoned her usual unpleasant annoyance. “And I couldn’t  _ afford  _ to stay the extra days at the inn,” she looked at her father’s new fine coat and breeches, the thick,  _ white _ , wool socks that covered his calves, and the new shoes. She didn’t remember the last time her father owned or even wore shoes. “Though something tells me I could have afforded it now.” 

Her father tried his best to smile through the bite in her words. 

“Right you are, my first-born,” he answered, “And you have this man to thank!” he gestured to the fae. “Mr. Azalea, meet my eldest, Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is Mr. Azalea.” 

Azalea extended a clump of vines that was vaguely hand shaped. She just smiled at him. 

“I assume  _ you _ are the client Elain told me about?” 

“I have asked your father to help me manage and invest my assets,” pollen puffed out of his mouth as he spoke. “I am new to my wealth, and do know much about managing such things.” 

_ No shit. _

“And you came to  _ my father? _ ” Nesta’s laugh was imperious and cruel, she hoped it reminded their father of their mother as much as it did her. “Surely you know our current circumstances.” 

“Of course, but his reputation still marked him as the best,” Azalea tilted his head. Nesta wondered if he was attempting a shy grin. “Though I confess the name Archeron is what convinced me. Always find allies with fellow ‘A’s’, as my mother would say.” 

Nesta’s grin was serpentine. “Careful Mr. Azalea, you sound positively Fae with logic like that.” She held its gaze, noting the beautiful blooming irises. Literal irises. 

“Yes, well, we’ll see how my logic fares soon enough. Apologies, but I do not believe I can stay for tea today.” He bowed his head to each of them, “Mr. Archeron, Miss Archeron, Miss Archeron,” and left. 

“ _ Neesstaa,  _ he already gave us an advance! Be nice! _ ” _ Elain whined. 

“Not an advance, my dear, a signing bonus,” their father corrected. 

Nesta took the tea Elain had been preparing and took a seat on the long-ruined couch. 

“Please tell me what all I missed on my trip.”    
  


Elain and her father explained how, 2 days ago, out of the blue, Mr. Azalea appeared at their door with papers, a trunk, and a business opportunity. His family had apparently been sitting on a literal goldmine that they just learned about. Unsure what to do with that kind of wealth, Mr. Azalea started asking around for estate managers. Someone told him that the best of the best, The Prince of Merchants, was down on his luck, and in his own words “a nobody and a fallen prince, a match if there ever was one”. He sought them out and offered a trunk of gold as incentive for Mr. Archeron to say yes. 

“I was worried that he was a criminal,” her father assured, “but after spending these past days with him, especially at the market today, I believe I know him well enough to trust him.” 

_ Sure you do.  _

Nesta knew this had to do with Feyre. She couldn’t be sure, but looking at that trunk of gold, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was payment. 

Your sister’s life and your immortal soul for a trunk of gold. 

Eh, it’s not that different than marriage. 

* * *

Her father walking again had less to do with the salve he generously applied to his knee each morning, and more to do with the investments he spent the day tracking. He got up every morning, rubbed his knee, dressed, gathered his paperwork and notes, and  _ left _ the house. 

How many years? How many years did he just sit there, carving those god-awful paperweights? How many times did Nesta, Elain, and Feyre beg him to get up, to go provide for them? And how many years did he just let them starve? Let his youngest hunt alone in the woods? 

And now that he has money again, he's happy again. Doesn't matter that his beloved wife is dead and buried. Doesn't matter that he told Feyre to go and never come back. He has money, money that Feyre was no doubt buying with her suffering. 

And  _ now  _ he was finally motivated? 

Every day was a challenge. Not to pretend that she wasn't meeting with a Fae, not to pretend that she wasn’t mourning her sister, but to not break his neck with her bare hands. Though the fantasy did warm her broken heart. 

But she checked her anger. Killing him would just make life harder for Elain. Elain, who did nothing wrong, who didn't know where the blood money really came from, who finally got to have real, steady meals. 

_ This, _ Nesta rationalized,  _ this is why Feyre agreed to go _ . This was her final sacrifice for her family, her gift to them. And Nesta couldn't deny Elain the growing comforts of the gift. 

So she kept her mouth shut. She sealed her guilt deep within herself. She held her discomfort with the new plant-based family friend. She let the world think that her ire towards her father was the same it always was. 

After a few days, Azalea took his leave. The contracts were signed, the initial investments made. He assured the Archerons that he would be back to check-in in a few months. Nesta noted the promise for what it was, the Beast was keeping an eye on them. That’s what struck Nesta the most. Why cover it up? The Fae could crush humans. They regularly attacked human villages. Why bother hiding that they stole one human girl? Why claim nonsense about the Treaty? 

“Look, I get that you’re still mad at your dad, but what’s the benefit of denying yourself a new dress?” Clare asked, pulling Nesta along through the market. She’d been back a week now, and allowed Clare and Elain to talk her into running errands together. 

“The point,” Nesta sighed, “is that I don’t want to lose all the money we lucked into when his investments go belly up - again.” 

“C’mon Nesta, that’s not fair! How was he supposed to know that those ships would get caught in a hurricane?” Elain asked. 

  
“By listening to literally any sailor who warned him how dangerous those waters were that time of the year?” Nesta countered. 

“Right, but one dress won’t bankrupt you. Think of it as an investment in your future. Better to get something nice that will last while you can afford it,” Clare offered. 

Clare’s family was never wealthy, but they had enough to get by. The Beddors were always kind to them, even if they didn’t have much extra to provide the Archerons. She was an easy friend, a callback to the old society days - someone to gossip to, to spend time with. 

Nesta gave Clare a side eye. Her blonde hair was down, with braids hanging delicately throughout. Despite the dirt on her hem and the stains on her cuffs, her face was unusually clean. Nesta noted the slight rouge on her round cheeks, it brought out the green in her eyes. She had cinched her belt a little two tight, trying to emphasize the soft curves a stable home and diet had gifted her. 

“Looking to impress someone today, Clare?” Nesta asked. 

“N-no,” she stammered, blushing a bit. Elain giggled. 

“Clare’s become a bit taken to Mr. Azalea.” 

“Really, and whatever do you see in him?” Nesta asked. 

“He’s… handsome. And polite. And -” 

“Rich?” Nesta finished. Clare blushed. 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” she asked. 

“It’s a shame you kept missing him then,” Elain offered. 

“Wait, you didn’t even  _ meet _ him?” Nesta asked, looking to her friend in disbelief. 

“Shut up,” Clare grumbled. She put her hand out in front of her and started inspecting it, she sighed. “I bet if I nabbed Mr. Azalea I’d never have to deal with a broken nail again.” 

“You’ll find someone,” Elain assured her. 

“Or you’ll die a maiden, alone and unloved,” Nesta countered.

“Bitch!” Clare laughed, giving Nesta a playful slap on the shoulder. “What about you? Who are you looking at now that you and Tomas are done?” she asked. Nesta froze for a second before responding.

“I’ll wait until father’s investments are settled,” Nesta sneered, “If Elain’s right, then my options are vastly improved.” 

Elain stopped them in front of the post office. “Excuse me a moment, I want to mail a letter.” They nodded to her. Clare watched the door and waited until the bell closed. 

“You should be careful about that, you know,” Clare said, turning back to the street. 

“About what?” 

“Tomas. He’s been spreading rumors about why the engagement broke. Something about getting milk without buying the cow,” Clare kept her gaze on the street. 

“Is he now?” Nesta wasn’t surprised. She expected him to claim as much, if only to save face with his brothers. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve made sure to keep the rumors away from Elain.” Nesta nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to respond more than that. “That’s why you left, isn’t it?” 

Nesta turned to see Clare staring up at her. Her gaze was full of concern. Nesta’s throat closed up. “I saw the cut on his temple. With your sudden departure, and his reputation, it doesn’t take a genius to put 2 and 2 together.” 

“Nothing happened,” Nesta affirmed. “I didn’t let it get that far.” 

Clare reached out and took Nesta’s hand. She hadn’t realized it was shaking. 

“No, of course not,” Clare smiled at her. A warm, comforting smile. “You’re a Lady”. 

Before Nesta could respond the doorbell chimed behind her. “All done!” Elain called. 

“Good, now let’s get you guys some chickens, I’m sure you’re sick of venison by now.” 

They had run out this morning. Two weeks. Just like Feyre said. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Clare Beddor everybody! And my favorite lesser Fae fake merchant, Azalea!


	8. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta spends some time at home and at the market.

Nesta was home for a month. And life just went on. She took over the majority of Feyre’s chores, though there was no longer a need to hunt, not with the gold Azalea had left them. But dinner got made, the walk got shoveled, the laundry got done.  It was a simple life, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The gold Azalea gave them could have maintained them in this manner for the rest of their days, if they were careful. 

It wasn’t like they forgot about Feyre. Elain would write Feyre a letter every other day, and would always hold her breath for a response. Nesta wanted to tell her not to. But Elain had no reason to think that Feyre wasn’t getting her letters, that she wouldn’t be able to send responses to them. So Nesta let her write, and would even dictate her own additions sometimes. 

Clare would often join them in town or at the cottage. A new table arrived at the cottage a week before, courtesy of “Mr. Azalea.” It was nicer than their last one, almost too big for the space. Elain splurged one day and bought them cards. Despite herself, Nesta rather enjoyed playing around the new table with Clare, drinking warm ginger tea, snacking on scones Clare would bring. 

Some days, it was hard to believe Feyre wasn’t with Aunt Ripliegh. Griffin had moved on to another town, and Azalea hadn’t been back to visit. With the sheer normalcy of their life now, it just felt easier to believe that Feyre was safe, visiting a sick Aunt. 

But the nights always ended the same way. Nesta would retire to their room early and fish the table leg from her drawer. The leg Feyre had painted and the beast had destroyed. Staring at the claw marks reminded Nesta of the cost of their current comfort. It kept the guilt churning in her stomach, right where she wanted it. 

One day, Elain and Nesta decided to forgo their regular trip to the post office, choosing instead to leave their father to post Feyre’s letter while he went to check on the investments. The snow granted them a reprieve for a few days, so they decided to enjoy a stroll without the damp misery. 

They walked around the outskirts of town, choosing to enjoy the woods today. Elain wanted to see if she could find any winter blooms to bring back to the garden. They walked together for some time, enjoying the quiet cold morning. 

Until they got near the outskirts of the Mandray farm. And Nesta couldn’t bring herself to walk any closer. Elain paused mid-stride. 

“The Mandrays should be back near the house,” Elain offered. “They shouldn’t be out here.”    
  


“I know,” Nesta answered, “but I don’t want to risk it” She backed up a bit. “We could go to the forest, look for your blooms.”    
  


Elain smiled at her and led her away into the woods. 

“You never did tell me what happened with all that,” Elain's question was implied. Nesta didn’t answer. Elain understood her silence for what it was and changed the topic. “In spring, when the snow melts, we could try to visit Feyre.” 

Nesta looked away, but answered. “Yeah, we can try.”    
  


Elain nodded, smiling slightly. 

“Things are going to get better. They already are.” 

Nesta looked away from her sister. She couldn’t hide the heartbreak in her eyes. And she could never bring herself tell her the cost of 'better'. 

They made it back to the cabin right as their father was hobbling up with more good tidings. The investments were successful. Nesta pretended to be surprised.  _ Of course they were successful. _ Stable income was damn near assured. And the smile on her father’s face made her want to gag as he stated his new plan.

“I think we should start looking for a real house.”    
  


* * *

No part of Nesta wanted to move. But then no part of her really wanted to stay, either. This hut was always Hell. But it was a Hell she deserved. It was certainly a Hell her father deserved. But Elain… 

Elain deserved a palace. 

  
  


So Nesta agreed to help with the house search. It would take a few months to find a new place, and even with the now substantial income from the Fae investments, it would take years to afford anything like their old place. So they decided to look for something modest. Two bedrooms, maybe a maid, but nothing more extravagant. Anything would be a palace compared to the glorified hut they had now. 

While her father went to the post office to send word to old friends and check on some of his investments, Nesta would go into town at least once a week to look for any interesting postings. It was when she was reading some of these announcements that the flies started buzzing around. 

“The ice queen emerges!” Marcus Mandray greeted her, swaggering up. Tomas was not present, as Nesta knew he wouldn't be. He never came to town on Fridays. But Marcus was with Grant, another of Tom's cronies. 

Nesta decided not acknowledging them was the best option. 

“Hm, no words for us now that you aren’t hanging off of Tommy?” Grant cooed. 

“Don’t kid yourself, I didn’t have words for you then, either.” 

Marcus leaned against the bulletin board, crossing his ankles and arms. 

“Oh come on now, we were going to be family,” he put on a fake whine, “the way Tommy says it, we still might,” he made to touch her belly. Nesta backed away from the board. 

“Tommy’s been giving you some false information then,” she turned to leave. 

“Oh has he now?” Nesta heard the challenge in his tone.

“It’s hardly the first time, right?” Nesta smiled a little, recalling an old rumor Tomas had all but confirmed one time. “He’s been pretending your uncle isn’t your father for years now.” 

“You little cunt,” he breathed out, grabbing her roughly by the arm. Men like this were so predictably easy - so preoccupied staring at her tits that they never thought to see the steel in her eyes. He saw it now though, and the look  _ scared him. _

“What are you going to do Marcy?” she spat up at him. “Hit me in front of the whole town?” 

Marcus and Grant looked behind her, noting various town folk watching them intently - namely, Isaac Hale and the Beddor family. Marcus let go. Nesta huffed and turned on her heel. 

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he threatened. 

“Get a hobby,” she called over her shoulder. 

Nesta walked slowly, intently into the crowd. She took Clare’s extended hands. “I think I will get a new dress after all.” 

* * *

“Well that’s the one,” Clare purred, resting her cheek in her hand. 

Nesta stepped out of the changing room and spun around. Thick purple wool was laced tight around her chest and through her waist, where it draped elegantly to the floor. The sleeves were cut tight, with iron buttons running up the forearms. The neck was wider than her usual style, meant to expose her collarbones. 

“I’ll need a new chemise as well,” Nesta murmured, noting the stained yellow cloth sticking up from the hem. She felt like a little girl playing dress up. 

“It’s not like you don’t need new underthings anyway,” Clare plucked at the fabric. “This thing offers you no support.” 

“Couldn’t afford the ones that did,” Nesta responded. Clare smiled up at her. 

“Well now you can,” she walked over and pulled out a sleeveless chemise with laces up the front and sides. “So even if you don’t get the dress, you are not leaving here without a  _ functional _ chemise.” 

Nesta looked it up and down, ultimately relenting. “Fine” 

Clare helped her out of the purple dress and the old yellow shift she passed for a proper chemise. She and Elain had tried to alter it for some support, but neither were tailors like Clare, and the suffocating tightness they tried to pass for support was unacceptable. This was an issue that Feyre and Elain didn’t really have to deal with. They had decent chests themselves, but they had nothing on Nesta. The back pain, clothing that never fit, incessant ogling, etc. Ogling that Clare was participating in now. Nesta snapped her fingers at her. 

“Eyes up here.”

Clare sighed, ”I just,” her voice broke a bit. “They are just so good.”

Nesta laughed despite herself as Clare helped bring the chemise over her head. Nesta held up her arms while Clare fiddled with the side laces, and quickly pinned up the cups. With every tug and pull, she felt her breasts pull up. When Clare was done, Nesta felt lighter. She jumped a little bit, and it didn’t hurt!  _ Holy Shit _

“We'll have to make one for you but, better, right?” Clare’s smugness came off in waves. 

“Much.” 

“Now try the dress,” Clare got Nesta in a new shift and in the purple dress once more. Clare stepped back. Nesta, wearing clothes that fit both visible and invisible, dressed head to toe in  purple, standing with her trademark impeccable posture, looked like a queen. Clare smiled. “They should give me a raise."

Before Nesta could respond, her father’s grating voice cut through the shop. 

“NESTA! NESTA!” he lumbered in. Nesta shot him a lethal look. 

“What?!” If he was put off by her tone, or by her glare, it didn’t show. 

“Nesta, they found the ships. All the ships, Nesta!” he breathed heavily, shaking a packet of paper at her. 

“How?” 

“They found them outside of Bharat. We’re getting it back, we’re getting everything back!” He showed her the papers. Nesta snatched them out of his hands. She read the cover letter slowly, unbelieving her father’s words. 

  
“Mr. Archeron,

It would seem fate has smiled on you, and we were a tad hasty to claim your goods lost forever. Our government has found your three ships, goods within, and the manifests proving them to be yours in a pirate cove outside of Bharat. 

The merchandise was delivered on your behalf to the parties listed on the manifest. You will find attached the letters of delivery, as well as a copy of the return manifest. 

Respectfully, 

Her Majesty’s Treasurer” 

Nesta sorted through the rest of the papers. New captains would return with the ships, spices, silks, and gold.  _ Oh spices _ . Nesta’s mouth watered at the memory of spices. They needed to meet the ships at the port, but with the manifests and the letters of intent, they could begin to arrange for the sale of the items - open lines of credit once more. 

The gold on those ships alone would be enough to buy back their old manor three times over. 

All of it. They were going to get all of it back. 

"So you're going to take the gown, shift, _and_ chemise, right?" Clare asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, one day I will write a fanfic that doesn't feature a character as a tailor.   
> Also the bra Nesta tries on is the Lengberg Castle brassiere. 
> 
> And things are looking up for the Archerons


	9. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archerons move into a big house and plan their debut back into society. 
> 
> Nesta gets a surprising offer.

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Elain asked. The carriage shifted, and all three of them had to grip the side.

“Yes, I need you two to open the house,” their father answered. “And even though it is a short trip, I won’t be back until the start of the season…”

“And we need to start rebuilding the family name,” Nesa completed.  _ Not that we had much of one before.  _

“Do you think the Rutlands will serve their deviled eggs?” Elain asked, excited. 

“They served them at the Spring Ball every year for 20 years, I doubt they’ve stopped,” her father assured her. 

“We should be more worried about getting an invite to their ball, before we worry about what food will be served there.” Nesta rubbed her temples, trying to keep breakfast in her stomach. Even when she was a child, she found carriage rides woefully unpleasant. Not riding in one for 8 years only worsened her motion sickness. 

“Well I wrote to the families already, announcing our return, and arranged for you to have lunch with the girls tomorrow,” their father gestured to them. “The rest is up to you.” 

“Really? Oh I missed Maria. I wonder how she’s grown,” Elain sighed. 

_ Probably a raging bitch like her mother.  _

“You are really sure it’s wise for us to make our comeback in society without an escort?” Nesta asked, “Or to let our  _ friends  _ know we will be unattended?” 

“Well both of you are of age enough to be a younger lady’s escort, so that should not be a problem. As for leaving you unattended, you will have each other, a full house staff, and Mr. Azalea has offered to stay with you in my absence.” 

_ Fucking excuse me?  _

“Mr. Azalea is back?” Elain sounded just a tad too excited. 

“Yes, he will be arriving tomorrow evening and staying for the week I am gone.”    
  


Nesta let out a rueful laugh and looked out the window.  _ Probably hoping to come back to a proposal.  _ She ignored the rest of their chatter. She willed herself to sit up straighter, to hold steady in the uneven rumble of the carriage. She had never stopped being a lady, just as her mother had ordered her. Now it was time to see what that instruction was worth. 

Their driver pulled into the driveway of their new estate. The grounds were well kept, if a little barren. There were plenty of trees and other flora around, but none of the evergreens natural to the area. Quite a statement by the previous owners. The driveway itself was covered in crushed white gravel, not an impurity in site. They’d have to buy new stones every year, to keep up that beauty. 

The house was unnecessarily, comically, grand. But if the Prince of Merchants wanted to make a statement about his triumphant comeback, this was certainly the way to do it. Servants stood in a line in front of the house, each one looking straight ahead and not at the carriage pulling around. 

An older gentleman with snow white hair and deep wrinkles stepped forward slightly, but maintained distance as the driver came around. The driver opened the door and extended a hand. Nesta took it, accepting his aid m as she stepped down to the dirt. The purple of her skirt seemed to float to the ground around her, and billowed as she stepped to the side. 

Elain was guided out next, making sure to thank the man before accepting his hand.. Her light blue dress and loose braids were a gentle contrast to Nesta’s tight coronet and demeanor. She smiled at the staff assembled in front of her. They seemed to relax slightly. 

Finally their father was helped out. The servant offering a full arm, rather than a hand. The limp had made climbing in a task, climbing out was much worse. Nesta tried not to grimace as her father made a most unseemly grunt when his bad foot hit the ground. He leaned more on the cane than usual as they stood in front of the staff.

The three of them wore the only nice clothes, really the only clothes, they had. Everything old was staying in that cottage, everything new was going to be delivered to the estate.The older gentleman bowed slightly, and the rest of the staff followed with him. When he rose, he spoke more for the girls’ benefit than their father. 

“I am Lionel, head of the waitstaff. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he spoke with a gravelly voice, one that betrayed his age more than his hair or wrinkles even. 

“Ah yes, good to see you again Lionel. These are my two eldest, Nesta and Elain Archeron.” 

Elain and Nesta curtsied as their names were called.

“Pleased to meet you,” they both stated. 

“Allow me to introduce your household staff,” Lionel began. “Mrs. Laurent, our housekeeper and the charge of the maids,” a round-faced woman well into her forties curtsied. Her veil and wimple made her face rounder, and her warm expression completed her look as the perfect downstairs matron. Nesta thought she looked rather a bit like Mrs. Beddor.

“Mrs. Cowell, our head cook.” Where Mrs. Laurent was soft and round, Mrs. Cowell was doughy. Her face was splotched with red, and bore a smattering of small scars. The sleeves of her dress were rolled up and there was already flour dusted across her apron. 

“Mr. Darrow, our groundskeeper.” Another older man bowed. He was tanned, with age just starting to show. His clothes were well-worn, with green and brown stains in various places. Given the clean state of the rest of his being, Nesta had to assume those stains simply would never come out. 

Lionel finished introducing the rest of the staff. 20 people in all, including maids, cooks, gardeners, the footman, a stable hand, and a couple of younger butlers. The girls greeted each one with a smile and pleasantries. When he was done, Nesta spoke up.

“We are pleased to meet all of you and look forward to getting to know you all better. In the meantime, I’m sure you all have duties that you need to get back to, and I’ll not keep you from them,” she nodded to them all, the dismissal clear but polite. Lionel nodded back and bade the staff to disperse. 

He led the family inside. 

“Most of the furnishings were left by the previous owners, so you will not be at a loss for furniture or dishware while you make your own purchases.” 

“Yes, I was hoping to start putting in some orders after I return from Port next week.” 

Surprise flashed on Lionel’s face, but he reeled it in quickly enough. “I was not aware you were leaving so soon. Will your family be joining you?” 

“No, my daughters will remain here while I am gone, a client will be joining them tomorrow evening.” 

Now Lionel had trouble schooling the outrage. “A guest so soon?”

Nesta stepped in before her father bungled anything more. 

“Mr. Azalea is a good friend, and was not shocked by our previous circumstances,” something that the footman who collected them and their things  _ absolutely  _ was. “I doubt he will be by a freshly opened house.” 

“Of course,” Lionel bowed. 

They continued the tour of their new home. The previous owner had left them quite a bit, though they took the fine porcelain, silver, and a good bit of the art with them to their new estate. The tour took almost two hours, mostly because they had to stay at their father’s pace. When they were done, Mrs. Laurent offered to take the girls back to their rooms to change before lunch. 

“So our clothes arrived then?” Elain asked. Mrs. Laurent cocked her head, but Lionel stepped in. 

“We’ve not had any clothing deliveries as of yet,” he answered, “We should be expecting one, I presume.” 

_ Useless idiot, I wrote out the  _ specific  _ instructions he was to give the staff. This is why I wanted to be there for the damn closing.  _

“Yes, When they arrive, please have them unloaded in our rooms. In the meantime, Elain and I would be pleased to freshen up before lunch.” He nodded to them and Mrs. Laurent led them away. As they stepped just out, Nesta turned again. “And Lionel?” He turned back to her. “The estate is lovely, thank you for showing us around.” 

He bowed to her and left. 

  
Elain and Nesta’s suites were next to each other, with a third reserved for Feyre. Both had their own sitting rooms, bathing rooms, and dressing rooms. Nesta’s room was painted a god-awful light pink, but the windows on the far wall gave her a perfect view of the front grounds. A marble fireplace took up the majority of the wall across from the bed, no doubt to ensure that she would remain warm throughout the winter months.    
  


In her bathing room, there was her own bathtub, a smaller wash basin, soaps and oils of various kinds, and a chamberpot. Her dressing room was all but empty without clothes to fill it; it was more of a glorified closet anyway. 

A vanity sat on the same wall as the dressing room door. A mirror sat perfectly on the desk. Nesta took a moment to look herself over. Her hair, braided tight enough to pull on her scalp, was still impeccable. Her dress was slightly wrinkled but otherwise fine. But her face… Nesta knew “freshen up” was just society-code for “take a shit”, but living in that hut for so long had left her with grime almost permanently caked to her person. She went back to the bathing room and cleaned her hands and face. A bath would come later, when her clothes had arrived, and it would probably be the best damn indulgence of her life. 

* * *

Their clothes didn't arrive that first day. Nesta and Elain slept in spare maid uniforms after bathing, and changed back into the gowns they arrived in after breakfast. Even with the short turnaround, the staff managed to get the gowns something near clean before the Rutlands arrived for lunch. 

Since only the Rutland daughters would be present, and it was assumed that their father would have left by now, they banished Mr. Archeron to the study. 

Tabitha and Maria Rutland arrived promptly at 11:30. They floated out of their carriage in light pink and green gowns. Their neck, ears, wrists, and fingers all were covered in fine jewelry. They took in the estate, the servants, and finally Elain and Nesta. 

“What a wonderful home!” one of them cooed. 

“Oh yes, the white driveway is much better than that awful red one you used to have,” the other added. 

And that was it. No greeting, no “how have you been?” Nesta wasn’t even sure which one was which. They hadn’t bothered to reintroduce themselves, as though they hadn’t gone 8 years without seeing one another. 

Elain responded, as Nesta was far too speechless. 

“Yes, it is elegant. But you should see the piano, so much nicer than the last one. Maybe you could play it after lunch, tell me if it is up to your standard?” Elain extended an arm to the one in pink.

“Oh Elain, you know it’s Tabitha who plays the piano,” Maria’s tone was as grating as it was condescending, but she took Elain’s arm. As if they had been close friends for all these years. 

Nesta offered an arm to Tabitha, who made a not so subtle glance at Nesta’s hand before accepting. They conducted a small tour of the house before settling in the dining room. The Rutlands made a couple snide remarks about the lack of art decorating the home, chalking it up to a side effect of their father’s profession. 

The girls chatted politely as they ate the fresh breads, warm buttered vegetables, and miniature roast chickens. Their conversation was light - about the meal, the stress of moving, the kindness of the staff, some of the gossip that Nesta couldn’t follow. She recognized most of the names, but the Rutlands made no effort to try and catch them up on why Caroline McDowall was at odds with Diana Bingley, or add any other context to the half-told stories.

“At any rate, I should be glad for the season to start, if only to finally see some new faces,” Maria complained. That was their in.

“Only a couple of days, though. Your staff must be busy,” Nesta said. 

“It happens every year and they still stress out about it,” Tabitha sighed. “There’s just so much stress in being the opening event.” 

“But you always rise to the occasion,” Nesta assured her, giving her a slight toast with a water glass. 

“That we do.”

“And Elain then spends the next year talking about those deviled eggs,” Nesta’s laugh was as fake as Azalea’s estate. 

“Then we will make sure to set aside some extra ones for her on Friday,” Maria smiled. 

And that was it. No questions needed, no extra charm. It was just expected that they would be there. Lunch concluded and Nesta couldn’t have been more glad to walk them out. The entire encounter had left her with this sour taste in her mouth, even before Tabitha took a hug goodbye as an excuse to whisper in Nesta’s ear.    
  


“You might want to try gloves next time.”    
  


If Elain heard, she didn’t show it. Nesta didn’t bother to talk to her sister. She just stalked into the house and went to call for a butler. 

“I need a messenger to go check on the status of our wardrobe,” she asked. The bad mood from lunch had leached into her tone, making the words harsher than needed.    
  


“They’ve actually just arrived, milady,” he responded. 

“They have?” Nesta walked to the back of the house - the servant’s entrance. She heard a familiar voice trying to argue with Lionel. 

“No, you see I know them, I’m their friend,” Clare stated. 

“So you’ve said miss, but I can’t just let in a stranger claiming to know the ladies of the house,” he answered, trying to be polite. 

“It’s ok, Lionel,” Nesta said, walking up. “She is a friend.” To Clare she said, “you're late.”    
  


“You bought out the shop, it took a bit longer than anticipated,” Clare pointed a thumb to the boxes and bags her brothers were hauling off of a wagon behind her. 

“I gave you two weeks.” 

“Uh-huh, two months would have been a too short amount of time.” 

“Hemming a few skirts is that difficult for you?” 

Clare’s eyes narrowed at Nesta. 

“Are you going to show me around, or are you just going to insult me?” 

“I think I will do both,” Nesta smiled as she led Clare inside. 

Clare didn’t hide her awe as she walked into the house. Nesta let Clare have all the reactions she wanted to have to the grand staircase, the mahogany tables, the chandelier, and the general  _ scale _ of this place. 

They ended up in Nesta’s private sitting room, sipping on tea and cookies. Elain had greeted them then run off to help their father prepare for his trip. Nesta was mentioning the upcoming ball when - 

“Wait, an actual ball?” Clare asked. 

“Yes?” she answered. 

“Nesta,” Clare said, reaching out and holding her hand, setting down a cookie

“What?” 

“Nesta, my dear.”    
  


“What?” Clare got up in front of Nesta.    
  


“I know you now have many options, but,” Clare dropped to one knee. “I would be honored to be your trophy wife.” 

Nesta sighed and put her head in her opposite hand. 

“What about Mr. Azalea?” she asked.

“A crush, a youthful indiscretion,” Clare answered, waving her free hand in the air. “An error in judgement, you are clearly more wealthy. And I deserve to eat your cookies, drink your tea, and attend a mother fucking ball. No, don’t laugh, I’m barely kidding.” 

“I think I should rather prefer to be a spinster,” Nesta said with a challenging smile.

“As long as you take care of me in my old age, I will be your mistress.”

“I will have less use for you as that than a wife,” Nesta pulled Clare up to her feet.

“Don’t knock it till you tried it.”    
  


“You’ve never tried it.” 

“Unimportant” 

“If I say you can remain my friend and allow you to come over and eat my food, and attend any ball I host, will that suffice?” 

“Oh, we can stay friends? Then yeah, go find someone else to warm your bed,” Clare waved a dismissive hand as she sat back down in her chair. Nesta couldn’t stop smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I will not stop building up Clare Beddor as someone too damn likable. Her death *will* be tragic and it *will* destroy Nesta.
> 
> and I like writing her too much. 
> 
> Next chapter: society ball and Mr Azalea returns!


	10. Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archerons receive a guest, and Nesta begins planning a violation of the Fair Trade Act.

A knock at her door interrupted Nesta’s much improved afternoon. 

“Come in,” Nesta called, still giggling over her tea. The maid opened the door and stepped one foot into the room. 

“Your father has requested your presence in the study, milady,” 

“Very well, thank you Jenny,” Nesta placed her cup down and stood. Clare followed her up.    
  


“I guess that is my cue. Thank you for the tea.” Clare’s laughter still danced in her eyes. “No need to see me out, a mistress should know the layout of her future home.” 

“Jenny, please blindfold Miss Beddor on the way out, lest she gets any bright ideas about what will absolutely not be hers.” Nesta shot Clare a glare and walked away. 

She found her father and sister in the study, ledgers open on the table. It was a ridiculous room. Each wall was covered in dozens of shelves, all containing books that were unread, serving the singular purpose of providing the appearance of intelligence.  _ I wonder if there is even text on the pages.  _

_ Ladies do not read so much.  _

They reviewed the itinerary of Mr. Archeron’s trip one last time. The delay in his leaving would delay his return, but only by a day, he promised. 

“I would have assumed as much,” Nesta cut in, “is there an actual reason for this meeting?” Her father looked at her sheepishly, with a cautious smile. 

“What would you like me to bring back?” 

Nesta’s heart stopped. An old tradition in their family. Whenever he’d leave on business, he’d always offer to bring them something back. Hats, jewelry, ribbons, dresses, needles, threads, horses, it didn’t matter what they asked for, he’d always bring it back for them. She stopped asking for anything when her mother died. When she asked for a cure and he brought her back a necklace.

“I want nothing from you.” Nesta walked back to her room, disappointed to find Clare had actually left. 

* * *

Nesta stayed in her suite for the rest of the afternoon, not bothering to see her father off or to even watch him go from the window. Instead, she inspected the now-full dressing room, pawing through the dresses Clare had delivered. They really did buy out her shop, and her family spent two week working ‘round the clock, altering the clothes to fit perfectly. To let them blend right into society. It cost almost half of Azalea’s gold, but it was needed if they were going to make a debut that season. 

  
  


She heard the carriage come up the driveway and went to her window. Sure enough, Azalea was stepping out of an ornate black carriage complete with gold detailing. Azalea looked much the same as last time, though its petals were starting to wilt. The vibrant green of its tangled stems was muted, with dark spots throughout. She watched as Elain stepped out and curtsied to it. Nesta quickly made her way downstairs. 

She caught Azalea’s clump of an arm on Elain’s back as it followed her inside. Elain was blushing slightly.  _ Fucking Hell.  _ Nesta had been made aware that Azalea was considered handsome, but she hadn’t considered that Elain was interested. She needed to shut this down. Now. 

“Mr. Azalea, I see you made it in one piece,” she willed disapproval and disappointment into her tone as she walked up to them. It dropped its arm. 

“Miss Archeron,” it bowed its head. She did not curtsey. “Elain was just telling me that I missed your father.” 

“He shouldn’t have gotten too far if you want to catch up to him.”  _ Leave.  _   
  


“Nesta!” Elain warned with a gentle voice. 

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Azalea waved his vines, “I am staying with you all for the week.” Nesta picked up on the slight distaste in its tone. _ So it doesn’t like this arrangement, either? _

“And we are very grateful for it. Come, let us show you the manor,” Elain tried to be civil. 

“I’m sure our guest is tired from traveling,” Nesta spoke again. “Henry,” she turned to one of the butlers, “why don’t you show him to his rooms so he can freshen up? We can show him around the manor in an hour or so.”  _ You will wait until I am good and ready to deal with you.  _

“Of course, milady. This way, milord.” 

She watched him walk upstairs and took Elain’s arm. “We should change before dinner, as well.”    
  


Elain studied Nesta’s face, searching for some kind of answer as to her bad mood. Ultimately she sighed and shook her head, only saying, “He’s been a good friend, being polite won’t kill you.”    
  


_ Azalea might. _

In all honesty, Nesta was fairly certain that Azalea wasn’t going to hurt them. If it wanted to, it had plenty of opportunities when they lived in the hut, when there would be less of a fuss. But that doesn’t mean getting close to a Fae wasn’t in and of itself dangerous. It is absolutely a risk to Elain, their loved ones, their father, and anyone else around them.

So Nesta determined that she had a very fine line to walk. She needed to keep Azalea at arms length without it getting suspicious that she knew it was a fae.

* * *

They summoned Azalea to the foyer an hour before supper, an hour after Nesta said they would. Elain had joined Nesta in her suite, trying to motivate her sister to move faster, but Nesta just asked Jenny to rebraid her hair. Three times. 

Showing Azalea around the house was relatively boring. It was polite and made generic comments about the house and grounds. It ignored most of Nesta’s digs, and even seemed to distance itself from Elain’s compliments. 

Lionel summoned them to the dining room promptly at 7pm. Nesta took her seat at the head of the table, sitting Elain and Azalea to her right and left respectfully. This was probably the event that Nesta was most curious about. Would the Fae eat? 

It did, much to her disappointment. 

Azalea ate the first course - butternut squash soup- with no trouble, though Nesta couldn’t help but notice how its vines curled around the spoon to hold it. Or how it had to insert the spoon entirely into its mouth to swallow, making up for a lack of lips. It was rather unpleasant to watch, and contributed to Nesta’s lack of appetite. Nesta motioned for the plates to be cleared as soon as Elain had put down her spoon. 

“Thank you, James,” she said to the apprentice butlers took her plate away. Elain smiled and quickly thanked Henry before turning to Azalea. 

“Will you be joining us for the Rutland Ball?” she asked.

“The what?” it responded. 

“The Rutland Ball,” Elain explained, “is always the first day of spring, it opens the season and is one of the most important society events of the year.” 

“I hadn’t planned on attending,” it said. 

“Well, being from new money, one could hardly expect you to get an invitation,” Nesta commented. She noted Lionel’s sharp look in her direction as he served her the main course, a shepherd’s pie that was probably too heavy for this time of year. 

“You could attend with us?” Elain offered. 

“Absolutely not,” Nesta, Azalea, and Lionel said as one, with varying degrees of harshness. 

“My Lady, it is improper for you to be escorted to the ball by man who is not your relation, without a male relation present,” Lionel sounded rather like Nesta’s stuffy old governance with his explanation. 

“I have never been one for large social events,” Azalea offered by way of its explanation. 

“I don’t want to deal with it,” Nesta stated, “Our hands will be full enough reintroducing ourselves.” 

“But that would be a perfect reason to bring him,” Elain countered. “Guests will be obliged to introduce themselves to him.” Elain’s words faded slightly to the end of her sentence. She was no doubt remembering the awful encounter with the Rutland sisters. 

“We would also be obliged to explain to everyone how we know him. That we weren’t just poor, but starving and desperate for any aid. So unless you would like to lie to all of our re-acquaintances, it is better to not have to broach the subject at all.” 

Lionel nodded in agreement to Nesta from his post at the side of the room. Nesta held her sister’s gaze, leaving no room for further argument. 

“Very well,” she relented. 

Mr. Azalea asked to retire before dessert on the basis of exhaustion from travel - beating Nesta to the punch of insisting that dessert had not been prepared. Elain retired to the parlor with her serving to write a letter to Feyre, detailing their new house and offering plans for Feyre’s eventual room. Or possibly that was an excuse to get away from the sister with whom she was cross with for being rude. 

Nesta remained in the dining room, trying to think over her a way to make up with Elain. She rose from the table and gestured to Lionel.

“Please tell the staff they are welcome to the dessert,” she stated. 

“Yes, My Lady.” 

“Also please do let them know that they are welcome to take home any leftovers to their families,” she continued. 

“I will let them know, but most of our staff is unmarried or married to each other,” Lionel answered. 

“Then please see to it that food is donated to the orphanage, I see no need to waste it.” 

“Yes, My Lady,” he smiled slightly. Nesta nodded and turned to leave. He called after her. 

“You know, you were not wrong to dissuade Miss Elain from inviting Mr. Azalea,” he offered. “It would be most improper and hurt your family’s standing.” 

“I’m aware.” Nesta left the room and moved to her father’s study, making a list of every item they would need picked up in preparation for the Rutland Spring Ball - beginning with gloves. 

* * *

The next day, Nesta spent breakfast reviewing the household accounts and ledgers in her parlor. Her father had purchased this manor, the carriage, horses, and food on credit, but the staff was all paid with the remaining Azalea gold, and would be until her father returned with the Bharat profits. 

They should be good until then, especially with the interest payment coming in later in the week. But with the extra expenses of hosting Azalea and the Rutland’s earlier, they were already over budget for the week. Nesta sighed, her father, for all his skill as a merchant, was absolutely horrid at managing household money. She supposed that was because he  _ is  _ a merchant - he doesn’t like to see money sit unused. And without Feyre here, it would be on Nesta to make sure they didn’t go bankrupt again.

_ She would think ledgers a greater hell than hunting, I’m sure. _

Nesta held out her cup for Jenny to refill with coffee. 

“Thank you, Jenny,” Nesta took a sip. “Please tell Connor to prepare me a horse, and one for Mr. Darrow, I shall like to take a tour of the grounds today.” 

“Yes, milady,” Jenny curtsied a bit and then paused, “If I may say so milady, it is very impressive.”    
  


“What is?” 

“That you remember all our names so quickly,” she backed up immediately after speaking. Nesta turned her head and looked over to the maid. She was young, probably around Nesta’s age, her sandy blonde hair was braided back, uncovered, so she was not married. Her brown eyes did not seem all that intelligent, but she had done her job perfectly for the past two days. And her hands were so gentle when they braided Nesta’s hair. 

“You all introduced yourselves to us properly, there is no reason we can’t at least remember your damn names.” 

__

Azalea and Elain joined Nesta for the morning tour of the grounds. The excitement on Elain’s face at the green fields they now owned, the gardens they would have, warmed Nesta’s heart. She would forgive Nesta her foul disposition. She watched as Elain bounded from her horse, inspecting every bloom, chatting with Mr. Darrow. He was dutifully answering her every question, not patronizing her, but appreciating her genuine interest in his work. 

Azalea pulled up beside her. 

"I had no idea she knew so much about flowers," this was its third attempt to begin a conversation with her this morning. 

"Her education has been limited, I'm sure there is much more for her to learn," she responded flatly, trying to sound as unpleasant as possible.

"Thank you for allowing me to accompany you this morning," credit for persistency. 

"You invited yourself, I had no reason to say no. Not with Mr. Darrow also accompanying us."

"Yes, I apologise for any trouble appearances might bring you. It was not my intention. In all honesty, I'd much prefer to be home this time of year.” She assumed the angling of its head and the pull at its mouth was meant to be a bashful smile. 

"Is that so?" she turned her head back to watching Elain frolic in the fields. 

"The first day of spring is an important holiday to my family."  _ Gotcha bitch.  _ She kept her head turned to Elain but slid her gaze to Azalea. 

"Humans haven't celebrated holidays in 500 years.” Azalea froze for half a second, its mouth open. But it recovered quickly and met her gaze. 

"Haven't we though?” it purred, “We can call it the season opening all we like, it's Calanmai."

Nesta huffed a laugh, backing off slightly. "Now you sound like the children of the blessed"

"I would expect so, my mother is a high priestess," it said quietly.  _ Oh now that is a perfect lie _ . Nesta paused a moment, considering.  _ One that could work for me, too. _

"So that's why you needed my father to invest, no other financier would have you?" It nodded. Nesta took a breath. "Does my father know?" 

"No, I apologise for the deceit," it sighed, "but i did not think your family would regain your fortune to this extent." It motioned to the estate around them.

"Is the money my father is making you being poured back into that hateful organization?" She asked. 

“Hardly a hateful organization,” it huffed, “they have taken care of so many of their followers, just as the Fae have done for humans for millennia. And it takes money to do so.”

“ ‘Taking care of’ is an interesting way of saying slavery,” she retorted. 

“I’m not going to argue with you,” it huffed out extra pollen as it spoke, “or convert you, but I do ask that you keep this between us. Your father is making us a lot of money, and I have no wish to put your family at a disadvantage,” he glowed a little brighter. Not as bright as when she first saw him, but it was noticeable.  _ Magic? Is it trying to glamor her?  _

No choice but to play it safe. 

“Very well, but discretion goes both ways. I won’t tell my father about what you are, and you will keep your distance from us - publicly  _ and  _ privately.” 

It seemed surprised at her response. Were people under glamors usually more pliant? She thought merely relenting would be playing it safe. Azalea looked at a dark spot on its hand and sighed. 

“Agreed,” it said as Elain came bounding back on her horse. 

* * *

After lunch, Nesta asked for Darrow and Elain to join her in the study with the property maps. 

“Afternoon milady,” he greeted.    
  


“Afternoon Mr. Darrow, did you bring what I asked?” He nodded and pulled out the roll of parchment he had tucked under his arm. She reached out and took it, unrolling it on the comically large mahogany desk. They placed a few paper weights on the corners. 

“What are we looking at the maps for?” Elain asked. 

“I would like to convert some of the lawn into farmland,” Nesta stated. They both looked at her with equal surprise. 

“We have 1500 acres of land, 500 of which are already just sprawling lawns, another 500 are gardens, and the rest is unused and untamed forest. Creeks run through most of the property, and we already have irrigation systems set up to care for the gardens and the lawn,” Nesta explained. “The lawns would be perfect for grazing animals, and we can convert the gardens to cash crops easily. The forests we can save for later years, but I’m sure there is an opportunity for a small lumber mill.” 

Darrow’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why you wanted to tour the property.” But Elain jumped in right as he was speaking.

“I’m not opposed to opening the land for farming, but couldn’t we keep the gardens? They are so lovely… and not having them will send a bad impression, make it harder to host our friends.” 

“Of course, we won’t convert all of the land, and we especially won’t convert the land nearest the house. I’m thinking we convert only 50 acres to start, near where the vegetable gardens and bees are kept now, and then expand out,” Nesta gestured to the map. 

“Hmm, well not there, those Lady Slippers are rare and hard to maintain, not here either, the ghost orchids are even rarer, or here, peonies are hardly rare, but they look so perfect where they are… maybe here?” Elain pointed to a section on the western side of the estate. “The gardens were already in a bit of disrepair, and it didn’t seem like any of the blooms were really taking root.” 

Nesta nodded. This, more so than anything else, was Elain’s comfort zone. Even when they were girls, she’d spend her days trailing the gardeners. Darrow had learned that morning how interested Elain was in horticulture, and was listening and nodding carefully to Elain’s input now. 

“We can move some of the rarer blooms in that area to your garden, if you would like,” Darrow offered. 

“Your garden?” Nesta asked, looking at Elain. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Darrow offered to grant me some of the plots near the house for my own purposes. Not having an occupation was going to grate on my sanity soon,” she giggled. 

Nesta smiled warmly. “I think that is a lovely idea.” She then schooled her expression back to professional neutrality. “Since we’ve decided on a place, let’s discuss crops. Wheat and barley seem obvious, but I’m thinking we should have some dyes as well.” 

The three of them worked through the afternoon, until Mrs. Laurent came to fetch them to prepare for supper. Nesta had Elain go on ahead while she finished writing up the order for seeds and supplies. Darrow remained in the study with her, confirming the order. It would have to all be purchased on credit, but that was standard for this kind of thing. That they would be able to pay off the purchase in a couple weeks put them at a major advantage.

“I was rather surprised when Miss Elain was so knowledgeable about gardening, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for you knowing about farming,” his tone was light and humorous. But it still sent a chill down Nesta’s spine, her hands shook slightly as she sealed the order. 

“I used to spend quite a bit of time with a farmer,” she explained. Handing him the order, she continued, “please see this gets sent out in the morning. Spring starts tomorrow so we are already on a time crunch for the sowing.” 

  
“Of course, milady,” he took the order and left. Nesta sat back in her father’s chair with a sigh. She ran through the numbers again in her head. If all went well, by this time next year the estate would be self-sustaining, by the next it would be profitable.  _ In just 3 years, the Mandrays will be out of business. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was 10 pages deep before I realized fitting Calanmai wouldn't work this chapter. The trade-off, however, is that I went ahead and finished the next chapter, so there's a double upload today!
> 
> Leave it to Nesta to plan her revenge as non-competitive trade practices. 
> 
> Please comment, review, whatever floats your boat!


	11. Calanmai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally the Rutland Ball and the opening of spring, Nesta is not prepared for the reception the Archerons receive. 
> 
> Minor trigger warning near the end of the chapter. Mention of sexual assault

Dressing for the Rutland ball was an all day affair. Jenny and Victoria entered Nesta’s suite just after dawn to set her hair. She once again took breakfast in her parlor, though this was more to keep with decorum. The maids were not pleased with the idea of pulling wax through her hair in the dining room. 

At least Elain had convinced Mrs. Laurent to allow them to prepare together. Halfway through her boiled egg Elain knocked on the door. Mrs. Laurent and Rachel entered behind her. Elain chatted away as their maids worked, wincing when they pulled her hair too hard, but mostly happy. Happy to be getting her hair done again, to be wearing finery again, to have a night of decadence again. Nesta responded occasionally, but couldn’t find it in her to be excited. 

Part of her felt like this fuss was too much. Like it was a waste. Donating the excess food to the orphanage, turning those idle acres into productive farmland, it was helping, but it still didn’t stop the crushing guilt in her chest.  _ This is what you traded Feyre’s life for.  _

Was it worth it? 

No. 

She looked over to Elain’s smiling face, a bit of jam on the corner of her mouth as she went on about whatever new dances would be popular now. 

Almost. 

Besides, if she was going to make the most of this life, if she was going to make sure Elain was provided for, they needed to go to this ball. They needed to redebut in such grandeur that no one thought twice about their 8 years of hell. If tonight went well, her father would have rekindled business contacts and Elain would have honest-to-Wall  _ options _ in her suitors. 

_ Feyre’s life for Elain’s happiness.  _

“It’s a shame Feyre is still with Aunt Ripliegh,” Elain complained, “tonight would have been perfect for her debut.” She sighed. Nesta’s fists clenched. 

“She’d hate it.” 

When their hair was in the curlers, Nesta dressed in a house gown and had Jenny put a coif over her hair. She headed out to find Lionel and confirm preparations for the night, figuring he’d be in or near his office off the kitchens. She, unfortunately ran into Azalea as she made her way past the dining room. 

“Looking forward to the ball?” it asked. Nesta narrowed her eyes. The “revelation” that Azalea was a Child of the Blessed gave her enough cover to be openly rude to “him”. A privilege she had fully abused yesterday at lunch, dinner, and in the parlor after supper. 

“Looking forward to your blasphemous and offensive false god worship?” she countered.    
  


“Calanmai is sacred, it is your festivities that are an offensive mockery of-” 

“What was that about not trying to convert us?” She interrupted, rather enjoying watching it literally bristle and grow thorns in annoyance. It took a moment to regain its composure. 

“I simply wanted to confirm when I should expect you and Elain home tonight,” it glowed again, weaker than last time even. Nesta answered even though she doubted this glamour would work on a normal human. 

“I wouldn’t expect us home at all. The Rutland ball tends to go until dawn,” she answered. She and Elain would have to nap this afternoon to prepare. “Since I plan on giving the staff the night off, it will be just you tonight.” 

“You’re going to leave your guest alone with no staff?”

“I’ll have them leave you a plate,” she waved a hand and walked away. 

“You  _ kind  _ sure understands gratitude,” it spat. Nesta felt fire in her stomach.

“Transactions don’t earn  _ your  _ kind gratitude.” 

Her meeting with Lionel was short and sweet. Since the ladies of the house would be away, they would not need supper, so the staff was free to retire early. Mrs. Laurent’s maids would be given reprieve as soon as the girls were dressed. Only Connor, their footman and stablehand, need work through the night. Though he’d probably nap with other staff at the Rutland estate. Lionel did ask after Mr. Azalea, but Nesta assured him that she spoke to Azalea and that “he” would be more than happy with food left out for “him” and a quiet night alone. 

Lionel fixed Nesta with a look at that, but didn’t argue.  _ Smart man. _

* * *

  
  


She didn’t remember the Rutland ball being quite so disgustingly extravagant. She remembered fine clothing, glittering jewelry, floral centerpieces in crystal vases, and silk-gossamer streamers, but looking at it now...this was uncomfortably opulent. 

The Rutland Estate was smaller than their own, but being in the family for 4 generations and not 4 days had that effect- it was exquisitely decorated. Art hung from the walls, marble statuettes lined hallways, silver and gold chotchkies sat on tables. Nesta decided the nauseous feeling of inadequacy was how all new money upstarts feel. 

Because they were new money now. Once, a decade ago, they were as established, as old money as anyone - more so than the rutting Rutlands. But now… their father bought an estate too large for them, with grounds too uselessly splendid, all with no history to it. She had told him to buy something smaller, to look for subtle, regal elegance. But no, he bought the biggest estate he could bloody well find. Their father had lost their old money status, and instead of rebuilding  _ that _ , he built them into New Money. 

  
Nesta sighed to herself. Dismantling that faux paus was her job tonight. She would work on the estate over time, establishing it properly, but tonight she would remind society that Nesta Archeron’s blood ran bluer than the damn Queen of Bharat’s. 

It started with the dresses she and Elain wore. The only fully custom gowns ordered from the Beddors. Beautiful lilac and pink silk, still a heavy weft, to fight the early spring chill. Their sleeves cut open from the elbow and draping nearly to the floor, each revealing a silver brocade on the underside of the fabric. Matching silver buttons ran from their collar to the hem; close examination would reveal silver thread held the dresses together. Silver lace gloves covered their hands like massive rings. Their jewels were set in iron, as was human tradition, amethyst for Nesta, spinel for Elain - nothing too grand, not trying too hard, but perfectly matched to their dresses. The ornate braids and curls that resembled crowns were just heavy handed reminders, a challenge for these noble fools to question if they belonged. 

But no one did. 

And that, Nesta realized, was so much worse. 

The harold called their names out as they entered the ballroom. A few people looked up, but not many, no more than any other arrival. At first, Nesta thought it was a snub.  _ No need to acknowledge the filthy poors _ . 

But then when they walked among the other attendees, everyone greeted them.

"Good to see you again"

"Looking forward to the season"

"I dream about these deviled eggs every year"

"Pity your father is away on business"

"Your dresses are fabulous as always"

"Somethings never change."

Just like with the Rutlands, people didn't bother to introduce themselves - Nesta and Elain recognized some, but most they were at a loss for. If they were surprised at the Archeron return, they hid it well. Nesta needn't have fretted so much over their gowns, no one questioned whether they belonged because no one was acknowledging they'd even left. 

When they sat down to dinner, Nesta was feeling light-headed. Course after course was served, and she ate, but it was all ash in her mouth. Everything blended together in the most surreal of fever dreams.

"Where was Feyre?" 

_ Imprisoned by a fae  _

"Visiting Aunt Ripleigh" 

“I liked the decorations last year"

_ We were starving last year _

"Can’t say I can decide either way" 

"Tabitha says your new place is so much bigger than your last one!"

_ Than the hut? Certainly!  _

"You know father, always looking for more"

She sat there staring at the table cloth where her plate had just been. When did it get taken away? Watching a servant sweep up her crumbs, all evidence that her plate was ever there was gone. Had it been there? If only she could feel the mass of food in her stomach, had she really even eaten? Had she really been engaged to Tomas Mandray? Had it really been three months ago they were frozen and starving in that hut? Had Feyre really been abducted by a Fae beast? Had Nesta actually gone to the Wall? Was it all a fucked up dream? 

Nesta was damn near hyperventilating when she felt a gentle hand rest on her shoulder. She turned and saw Elains beautiful, big, brown eyes looking into hers. Elain's hand slipped down to grasp Nesta's, she gave it a gentle squeeze and murmured, "It's real, it happened."

Nesta squeezed Elain’s hand, tight enough that it no doubt hurt, but Elain didn't complain. She held fast until Nesta came back to herself. 

One breath in, one breath out. 

_ No one knows where Feyre is because of Fae magic. No one knows you went to the Wall because you lied about it. _

One breath in, one breath out. 

_ We were starving not three months ago.  _

One breath in, one breath out. 

_ They aren’t acknowledging it because these sniveling little cunts were content to let us starve. And now that we are back, they would rather pretend we were on vacation than admit they’d have let us die.  _

There. Anger. Anger secured her. Elain had helped pull Nesta back to herself. But that rage formed an iron cage that locked her within her body. She opened her eyes with an expression so murderous that even Elain looked a little scared. Another moment passed her molten gaze cooled to arrogant disdain. 

She stood slowly, elegantly. She tugged on Elain’s hand, and her sister rose as well. 

“Go enjoy the dancing.” 

Nesta walked around the edge of the ballroom, watching everything. Elain fell in with a pack of girls around her age. They encouraged her to accept every man who invited her to dance. She barely got to sit for the rest of the night. The dances had changed, she noted, but Elain followed her partner’s lead and made up for other deficiencies with her natural grace.

For herself, Nesta made no effort to speak to anyone. One brave young man asked her to dance. She turned him down flat. Anyone else who approached her wascut down with words. Watching the young men flock around Elain, falling over themselves for an opportunity for a dance, she was well aware that a thorny older sister wasn’t going to get in her way. Wasn’t going to interfere with her father’s business deals. She was rich. That’s all that mattered. 

Being a lady was just window dressing. 

She left at exactly midnight. Early for the younger guests, but not the first person to leave. She had Connor bring her carriage around and take her home. He could come back afterwards for Elian, who Nesta was certain would remain until dawn.

Home at least 6 hours earlier than she intended, with no staff awake, Nesta lit her own fire. Making it too tall, too hot, like she was trying to warm the entire mansion, not just her bedroom. She let the abrasive heat caress her skin. 

Nesta stripped the finery she had been so, so careful in selecting. She left the jewelry on her vanity, the gown hung from her dressing room door, and the shift and chemise in a pile on the floor. She donned a thick wool sleeping gown, and began wiping off the makeup Jenny had so carefully applied. She started undoing her hair, each movement torture, a fight against the complicated braids and sticky hair wax. 

When she was done, her hair was messier than it had ever been, locks sticking straight up and out every which direction. Looking at herself in the mirror, with the remnants of makeup still running down her face, sweat pooling on her skin, she looked horrid. 

_ I probably looked better after Tomas tried to rape me.  _

She wanted to throw up. It was too hot. Too hot in here. She couldn’t breath. 

Nesta rushed to her window and threw it open. She breathed in the fresh spring air, enjoying the dichotomy of the heat behind her and the cold in front of her. The fire at her back burned away the awful feelings of that terrible ball, and the wind soothed the pain the flames left in their wake. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before movement in the yard caught her attention. 

She watched as Azalea walked out to the yard, facing North. To Pryntian. It raised its arms, seeming to take in the night air the same way she had. Its glow was almost entirely gone, the petals on its head were dulled. Did it miss its home the way she missed hers? Did it make Azalea as weak as it made her? 

She had decided to turn in before it caught her watching, when a pulse of yellow light drifted through the air. It carried with it the smell of lilacs, of dew, of dirt, of something salty she did not recognize. The light went right to Azalea, entering its chest. She held her breath as Azalea’s glow grew to the brightest she had ever seen it. Its petals bloomed, a great puff of pollen filled the air around it. One arm rested on over where its heart would be, and one raised in the air, as if in prayer or thanks. The flowers around it bloomed. 

Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off of Azalea until he turned back into the house, then turned her own gaze Northward. She stayed there until dawn broke over the horizon, wondering if Feyre got to see such sights in Prythian, if she was given a reprieve from whatever torments they subjected her to for the first day of Spring, for this Fae Holiday. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Nesta dissociates for 2500 words. 
> 
> Honestly I thought this was a short chapter (even for me), but turns out it's just short when compared to the monstrosity that was Estate. 
> 
> Real talk: I wrote the Azalea-Calanmai scene like three chapters ago and have been super excited to get to it. I love my plant-boy. Like excited enough that I definitely wrote this chapter instead of working today lol. 
> 
> Please comment, review, give feedback. Follow me on twitter at Potato_burp or on tumblr at Saphie3243


	12. Clare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life continues after the season opening, and it's now the summer solstice. The Archerons host a party, and Nesta decides to make good on a promise.

Mrs. Laurent, Victoria, Jenny, and Emily came into her room at 6am, each carrying buckets of water. They were startled first by Nesta's presence then by her appearance. 

"You should have had Connor wake one of us if you got home early." Nesta found herself without patience to be scolded by this old woman. This woman who was not her mother, not her governess, not even her wetnurse, this woman who was her  _ housekeeper _ . 

"The staff had the night off, I saw no reason to rescind the offer."

"But my lady, your hair-"

"Will be fine," Nesta closed her eyes, exhaustion was starting to catch up to her. "Just.. finish preparing the bath, please. Elain’s too, she will be home soon.” 

Mrs. Laurent narrowed her eyes once more, but said nothing further. They finished filling the tub quickly, and all but Jenny left to go prep Elain’s. She’d be able to fall into the bath the moment she got home, before being tucked into a comfortable bed. 

“It really would have been better to wake us, milady,” Jenny said, then lightly tapping one of Nesta’s waxed locks,“or at least wait for us to take down your hair.” Nesta hissed, her scalp sore from yanking out the braids and combs. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Jenny gently led Nesta to the bath. The water was too hot, meant to have time to cool slightly while the girls were arriving home and undressing, so Nesta couldn’t get in just yet. Jenny had Nesta sit on a stool at the edge of the tub and lean her head back over the rim. 

Using an oversized cup, she poured the scalding water over Nesta’s hair. The heat melting the hair wax, allowing her hair to finally relax. “Well, this is actually... better,” Jenny smiled wide, “Silver Lining!” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the soothing strokes of her maid’s fingers. Jenny hummed slightly to herself as she worked oils into Nesta’s hair and scalp. She tutted a bit as some of the locks Nesta had tangled, and got up to get a comb. 

“I couldn’t stand it,” Nesta finally said.

“Stand what?” Jenny returned with a wide-toothed comb. She turned Nesta 90 degrees and sat behind her. Nesta waited until she began pulling the comb through her hair to speak agian. 

“The people. They just… they acted as though we never left.” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” 

Jenny was silent for a minute, working the comb through, before she spoke again. 

“Tabitha Rutland had a baby last year.” Nesta gasped, and before she could respond, Jenny continued. “No one knows who the father is, but her family claimed she was ‘visiting the continent’. William Flannait disowned his son for eloping with the help, despite his second and fifth child being born by his maid. The Koffields beat their children, but everyone says the kids are just clumsy,” her tone got harder. She paused for a moment before going on, “Let see, what else... Darius MacDonald can only get off if there’s a horse in the room.”    
  


Nesta burst out laughing at that. It was an ugly laugh. Jenny bid her to stand and led her into the tub. 

“They all pretend, milady. Pretend that they have perfect lives with perfect families and a perfect history. They can’t admit that you were poor because that would acknowledge that they are mortal like the rest of us.” 

Nesta leaned back in the comfortably hot water. She closed her eyes and remembered her mother. How she drank, how she would make a mockery of herself at events and her father and the footman would have to wrestle her home. How no one said anything about it other than “Lady Archeron, up to it again”. How everyone pretended she was just a drunk, because it was easier to deal with that than the fact she was in too much pain to stay sober, and too much of a coward to just end it. 

She remembered how they lied to Feyre, telling her mommy just had malaria. That’s why mommy throws up all the time, and says things she doesn’t mean, and doesn’t remember your name. The fever is from the sickness, not the opium she started smoking when alcohol wasn’t enough anymore. 

Nesta never knew what Elain thought of their mother, if Elain remembered what she was like before she got sick, if she knew what was really happening. She was a hypocrite. Nesta lied and pretended more than anyone else. She had to. 

Maybe that’s why this one thing was the breaking point. This one thing she didn’t  _ have  _ to hide. 

It wasn’t her mother’s drinking that would destroy Elain and Feyre’s memories of her. 

It wasn’t Feyre’s abduction or Azalea’s species that would get them killed. 

It wasn’t that odd connection to the Wall that could be disastrous in ways Nesta couldn’t imagine. 

This one thing everyone else already knew. 

And they pretended anyway, for the sake of appearances. 

Nesta sunk her head under the water. 

_ I’m so tired of pretending.  _

* * *

Life got busier after then. With the onset of the season, Elain was always out at an event. On the off days she was home, she was in her garden. Their father came home from his trip - late - as Nesta expected, and stepped right back into his old life. When he wasn’t hosting business meetings, or out examining merchandise, he was smoking tobacco with other foppy old men. 

Azalea left just a couple days after their father returned. She had never seen the plant more content than when its carriage came around. Nesta almost invited it to stay longer out of spite. 

Nesta, for her part, threw herself into the Estate. Every morning began with breakfast in her parlor and a meeting with Lionel, receiving a general update on the day-to-day operations of the home. Then she would meet with Darrow, and monitor progress of the farm and grounds. Then she would meet with Mrs. Cowell, review the menus and grocery lists. Finally she would meet with Mrs. Laurent, and they would discuss upkeep on the new art and furniture. 

Ah yes, new furnishings. Their father’s trip was wildly successful. The money they now had was simply mind-boggling, and the ships that contained that wealth meant they could keep ferrying more goods, and keep getting wealthier. So Nesta bought things. Not the tacky, gold-leaf, expensive-looking nonsense items her father kept picking out (and she kept returning), but elegant, sturdy things. Items that displayed their wealth, but didn’t show it off. 

While she was at it, she expanded the staff. The farm was more that Darrow could possibly do on his own, so she hired five strong young men to turn the garden into useful land. She overpaid them, but the Archerons could afford it. She knew they could… because the last meeting of the day was with her father, reviewing the family accounts. 

Nesta used her busy schedule as an excuse to avoid attending any society event. That joke about wishing to be a spinster seemed more and more appealing everyday. Especially on days when society came knocking on their door.

It was an unfortunate side-effect of Nesta’s efforts. The nicer the manor became, the more people wanted to visit, the more they were willing to brave Nesta’s nastiness. 

To be fair, Nesta would try to be nice. Elain would ask her before her friends came for tea or a picnic or whatever, and she would try. But the way they spoke, the absolutely nothingness in their dialogue, it was infuriating. She wanted to shake them, to make them have an opinion that didn’t parrot whatever they thought the other person wanted to hear. 

“Ah ah ah, snacks before complaints,” Clare interrupted Nesta before she could continue. Lounging on the chaise in her fitting room, Clare reached a greedy hand out to Nesta. 

“Yeah yeah, here you go,” Nesta pulled out a tin of cookies and handed them to Clare before sitting on the stool. 

“Alright, please continue telling me how miserable you are talking to people you don’t like even though you do not have to be anywhere near them. Ooo lemon,” she popped a cookie in her mouth and looked up. 

This was the one social interaction that Nesta indulged in. Clare didn’t have the free time, or usually the means, to come up to the estate, so Nesta would come down to her shop to visit. 

“I can’t avoid going to other people’s events, it’s when they are at your house that becomes hard to avoid.” Clare shoved three cookies in her mouth at once. “You’re going to get fat if you keep eating like that,” Nesta’s disgust coming across more than intended 

“Oh I hope so,” Clare licked her fingers with a wink. “Can’t you literally get lost in your estate? Didn’t it take like 3 days to find those farmers?” 

Nesta recalled the unfortunate incident that occured the first week her new hires started. 

“It was two days, but I see your point,” Nesta sighed. “If I don’t make an appearance, it would make things harder on Elain.” 

“Harder how?”    
  


“If I’m not present at events  _ at my own home _ then there must be a reason. Not liking any of them doesn’t count. I must be deathly ill, or insane, or pregnant. All such rumors would hurt Elain’s standing.” 

“I can’t believe Elain likes those girls, given what you’ve told me about them.”    
  


“Elain likes everyone, and she likes having friends. I don’t think she  _ wants  _ to see further.” 

“That tracks.” They fell into silence as Clare leaned back on her chaise. They’d had variations on this conversation for months now, with no discernible change. Nesta sometimes wondered if Clare just liked having a break in the middle of the day, and didn’t care if they talked or not. “So whatcha doin’ for solstice? Are you going to grace us with your presence or-” 

Nesta sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. We’re hosting the solstice picnic.” 

Clare shot up to a seated position. “A party?” 

“Yeah, we haven’t hosted anything major for the season yet, and Elain wanted to show off the gardens - why are you looking at me like that?” 

Clare’s look of unbidden, mischievous joy was terrifying. 

“I’ll be there.” 

“No you-” 

“You said. If you host a party, I get to go.” 

“I said ball.” 

“It was a blanket statement on all large social gatherings.” 

Nesta could have argued. She would have argued. But Clare looked so excited. And getting through the entire night was going to be hard anyway, maybe having a friend would make it easier. At least she would have someone she likes to talk to. 

“Fine.” 

* * *

Clare arrived early. Partly because she was excited to be there, and partly because she was going to use this opportunity to be dressed properly. Nesta sent Connor to pick her up at 10 am in the carriage. She gave him specific instructions that Clare was not to carry anything from her house to the carriage to the front door of the manor. As an added kick, she had the butlers, maids, and the dozen day hires greet her at the front door with a bow. The stunned look on her face, with her jaw hanging uselessly open was absolutely worth the showmanship. 

Nesta stood at the top of the stairs, smiling like the fox, looking down her nose at Clare, but with none of the malice she had for other people. “And you think you can handle a  _ ball _ ?” Nesta turned on her heel, flicking her fingers behind her for Clare to follow. If she had bothered to watch a second longer, she might have noticed the blush color Clare’s cheeks. 

Jenny, Victoria, and Rachel followed Clare up the stairs and into Nesta’s suite. Elain was already there, having her hair done by Mrs. Laurent. “Are you done using the entire staff to shock our friends?” Elain asked.

“For now,” Nesta smiled. Jenny and Victoria exchanged looks. Victoria turned to Clare. 

“Please have a seat, and I will do your hair.” Clare nodded, still not fully recovered from the shock of the princess treatment. 

“You get used to it,” Elain offered with a smile. Clare looked back at her. 

“I hope I get the chance to!” she winked. Nesta and Elain smiled, shaking their heads. 

When their hair was carefully braided up off their necks in complicated twists and patterns, the ladies started on makeup. Nothing too heavy, as today was a day for games and activities. Nesta and Elain traded their usual silk for a light summer linen. The sleeves capped at the elbow, their dyed chemise continuing to the floral lace gloves on their hands. 

Clare whistled, when they finished dressing, admiring her own work. For her own part, she wore a tight orange linen gown, capped at the elbow, embroidered along the collar and hem with white lilies. Elain lent Clare some stud earrings, but the only other jewelry they wore was the iron cuffs on their wrists. 

When they finally descended the stairs to join the festivities, people had arrived, and food was laid out in the dining room. Instead of a proper meal, they served a day board of summer foods, all light and delicious. Guests mingled in the dining room and wandered through the open double doors to the sprawling gardens. 

Dozens of games were spread out for their entertainment. A few notable options in life sized chess, where players could stand on the squares and move as the pieces. Badminton was next to it, as Nesta really wanted to see how these fops would react to stray birdies interrupting chess. Horseshoes, croquet, and bocce ball made an appearance. They had an obstacle course for the younger guests. Later in the afternoon they would host a polo match. 

Even Nesta had to admit that today could be fun. They had set up the perfect summer solstice, a day to play. Clare grabbed Nesta’s hand and ran out to the first game she could see, uncaring how childish she looked. 

Elain introduced Clare to her friends throughout the day. They all were polite to her, some were even genuinely pleased to meet someone new. More than a few immediately commissioned her upon learning  _ she _ was tailor behind the Archeron dresses. For the first time in months, Nesta was happy. 

They spent the day in reckless fun, and then the night came. As soon as the sun started to descend, servants began lighting the many lanterns strung throughout the party. Games continued, but the band switched from light background music to dancing tunes. Tonight wouldn’t go so late as a ball would, but somethings are just more enjoyable at night. 

Clare wanted to dance every dance from the first. Nesta obliged her, both of them tripping and lost as neither really knew the steps. But it didn’t really matter, they were having fun, and maybe a little tipsy from the wine they drank all day. A deep chuckle came from behind them. 

“I do believe you two are having the most fun out of everyone here,” Sir Darius MacDonald bowed to them. They curtsied back. 

“Are you here to ruin it for us?” Clare asked, her sweet tone contradicting the harsh words. 

“On the contrary madame, I am hoping you might teach me how,” he responded easily. 

“It might take a couple lessons,” Clare winked at him. 

“Then shall we start with a dance?” he bowed again, extending a hand this time.

She accepted and Nesta felt something in her tighten. They talked as they danced, the young man walking Clare through the steps. They smiled at each other, looked into each others’ eyes, and when the dance was done, Clare walked with  _ him _ to the refreshment table. Nesta felt her stomach drop to the floor. 

One of the girls whose name Nesta never bothered to relearn whispered in her ear, “It looks like your friend got a partner.” 

“Not the kind you like, I’m afraid.” It wasn’t even a good comeback, but Nesta didn’t have it in her to care. She turned on her heel feeling an unpleasant and entirely new mixture of emotions rise from her stomach. She couldn’t stop picturing Clare’s hand on Darius’ arm, her smile directed at him. 

After all she had done for her, making sure this solstice was the best damn solstice this stupid island ever saw, Clare  _ abandoned _ her to go flirt with the first man who looked at her. Traitor. She could not stay here, near these people, in this place. She stalked down the hall to her father’s gloriously empty study. 

She poured herself a brandy and took it and the bottle to his chair. Taking a sip, she tried to reel in the explosive emotions that threatened to rip her apart. Tried, and failed. She poured another drink.  _ Abandoned me. _ Half-way through the third drink, a knock sounded on the door. Clare entered. 

“Hey, Jenny told me you were in here, everything ok?” She asked. Looking at her now, she was sweaty and flushed, her makeup had all but worn off. She looked beautiful. 

“I’m fine, go back to the party,” her words slurred together.    
  


“The party’s mostly empty now,” Clare came over and put a hand on Nesta’s arm. Nesta pulled away from the touch. 

“You had fun right?” there was something in Nesta’s tone that started to set Clare on edge.

“I did” 

“Guess you got the night you wanted?” Nesta’s tone was harsh and the words slurred. 

“I did. Darius was nice enough to keep me company af-”

“Got to dance the night away with a rich prince.” 

“What?” 

“Have fun fucking with a horse in the room,” Nesta huffed, getting up to walk away. Clare grabbed her arm, keeping her in place.

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

“You. Is this why you wanted to come to a party so bad? To nab some rich idiot?” Nesta could hear her resentment in her tone and couldn’t figure out why it was there, let alone stop it. Clare recoiled and then shot back with an equal level of anger.

“So what if it was? It’s not like I have that many options!” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Nesta spat.    
  


“Is it? Name one good match in that entire town Nesta, one.” 

“Me.” Nesta didn’t believe the word had come out of her mouth until it did. Clare stopped for a moment, processing that one syllable and what it meant. 

“Nesta, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not a joke. You want this life that bad? Prove it. Marry me,” Nesta’s tone was all judgement and disgust. 

“You’re seriously proposing to me to prove a point? You’d marry me for what? Spite?”    
  


“Do you have a better reason?” 

“Love!” Clare’s voice rose an octave, exasperated beyond reason. Her arms flew out from her sides, waving around the air. 

“Oh, and flirting with Darius tonight was about marrying for  _ love _ ?” All condescension. 

“Was Tomas?” Clare knew immediately that she had stepped too far, over a line she absolutely shouldn’t have crossed. The anger left her voice immediately “Nesta, I-” 

“Get your gold-digging ass out of my house.” 

“Nesta, I’m so-” 

“LEAVE” 

Clare looked at her with big green eyes. Nesta could see the regret in them, the heart-felt apology. She knew Clare hadn’t meant it. She knew it, but it was too much. Looking at Clare right now, the jealousy she felt watching her dance with other people, the stupid proposal, she couldn’t deal with it now. It was too much. 

Clare left the study without saying good bye.

* * *

She didn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned, thinking about Clare. About that fight, about the hurt in her eyes. She was dumb. She was an idiot. What the hell was she thinking?  _ Why  _ did she do that?    
  


The whole next day she was a ghost in her house. Present physically, but not mentally. Turning the same question in her head over and over. Why did she propose? 

Why did seeing Clare dance with Darius, flirt with Darius, smile at Darius make her see red so? Why was she jealous? It’s just Clare. Her friend. Her best friend. Her only friend. 

The person who could take her snark and hand it back. The person who saw the verbal fencing for what it was and  _ wanted _ to play. The person who knew her, all of her, even the parts Nesta hated, and still wanted to be there. 

And Nesta wanted her there. 

_ Oh. Oh fucking hell. I’m in love with Clare.  _

Nesta stormed from the dining room table, startling her father into splashing his soup on himself. She headed straight for the study. Pulling out a quill, ink, and some parchment, she sat down and wrote out everything. Everything she needed to say but wouldn’t be able to say verbally. Not without falling into their pattern of banter and misdirection and she wanted no confusion here. 

_ Dearest Clare,  _

_ Because you are my Dearest. And I have done you the greatest disservice.  _

_ I proposed to you out of spite and jealousy. I saw you with Darius and I was upset not because you were flirting, but because you were flirting with someone who was not me.  _

_ I don’t know how to move forward from here exactly. But I love you. I think I always have. And one day, I will propose to in the way you deserve. I will spend weeks planning it, and I will sweep you off of your feet. And if you would have me, I would spend the rest of my life caring for you, laughing with you, loving you.  _

_ Yours if you would have me,  _

_ Nesta  _

Nesta read and reread the letter and nodded. She set it down, looked for an envelope, pushing aside the crumpled remains of the dozens of drafts that came before it. Sealing the letter carefully, she kissed it. Looking out the window, she noted how dark it became, too late for this errand. But if she did not go now, she would never have the nerve again. 

She walked over to Connor’s quarters and banged on the door. He was clearly startled, movement thundering through his room. The door opened and Connor stood there with his shirt untucked and his pants halfway down. Behind him the sheets of his bed were a rumpled mess. 

“M-milady!” 

“I apologize for the disturbance, but I have a need to go to town immediately,” she looked in his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could agree or argue a voice came from the corner of the room. 

“You’re going to make up with Clare?” Nesta looked around Connor’s shoulder to see a  _ very _ dishevelled Jenny hiding in the corner. Nesta blushed and nodded. “Oh  _ hun _ , you have to take her.” 

Connor looked between his lover and his lady and sighed. “Of course, milady. Please give me a minute to dress.” 

20 minutes later she was riding down the road on a horse next to Connor. He had tried to take the carriage, but Nesta didn’t want to wait for him to set it up. He then tried to take her on horseback, himself, but she wasn’t having that, either. This was something she needed to do on her own. The compromise of merely accompanying her was the best he could get. 

They trotted along together, part of her wanted to travel at a full gallop, but this was a sacred journey of sorts. Nesta would savor every moment of it. A night ride through dirt roads, with cicadas chirping their sweet music. The warmth of early summer wrapping around her in a loving embrace. She was nervous, butterflies fluttering around her stomach, but whatever the outcome, this was it. The right path. 

The first scream did not belong to Clare. Neither did the second. 

Nesta and Connor glanced at one another before spurring their horses into a full gallop. Rushing to the Beddor estate, where Clare’s parents’ screams were filling the night. Nesta was so focused on that noise, on getting to the Beddor estate, that she did not hear another voice underneath the screams. She did not notice that Connor slowed and turned away. 

Not until a familiar green glow shined in front of her, 200 yards from the Beddor house. 

“STOP!” Azalea yelled, pollen fluttering everywhere around him. 

Nesta’s horse stopped dead. 

Nesta didn’t. 

The sudden stop flung Nesta from the saddle, sending her sailing through the air. Before she was aware of what was happening, green vines wrapped around her, holding her to Azalea’s chest. She thrashed against the hold, her own screams melding into the ones from the house. 

“Let! Me! Go!” She fought to no avail, Azalea just expanded and tightened its vines around her tighter. 

“Be Quiet,” it ordered, glowing and releasing more pollen. Nesta kept fighting and yelling. It wrapped a vine across her mouth, gagging her. She bit down. “Dammit!” The vine retracted. 

“Let me go you fucking fae bastard!” she yelled again. Its irises looked into her eyes.

“I can’t,” it said.

She spat in its face. 

“Nesta if I let you go in there, you will die.” 

“Clare’s in there,” her voice was desperate, tears were flowing from her eyes. “Clare’s in there. I can’t leave her, Clare’s -” 

Azalea seemed to understand all he needed to know from her tone, her breaking words. His expression softened for a moment, then resolved to something else. A vine wrapped around her throat and she called out Clare’s name one last time, and everything went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And nesta never gets to know whether or not Clare loved her back. 
> 
> They weren't going to be love interests until I decided that I wanted them to have a fight and never have a chance to make up. First draft opened with the line "marrry me" and it just... got gayer. 
> 
> If it makes you feel better I cried writing the letter. 
> 
> Please comment, review, critique, whatever floats your boat. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter at Potato_burp or Tumblr at Saphie3243


	13. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta wakes up alone.

“A Fire?  _ All  _ of the Beddors are gone in a fire?” 

“How do we tell her? It will break her heart.” 

Nesta woke in her bed, a red hue filled the room as the summer sun shone through her thick curtains. She wondered if Azalea closed them, as she liked to sleep with her curtains open, to allow the sun to wake her at dawn. 

She was not surprised at the words of the maids outside her door. She was more surprised that she was still alive. Why had Azalea halted her, taken her home. She lifted her covers and noted the summer sleeping shift, her loose hair, he’d even kindly put her to bed. 

She released the covers and stared back at the damn red curtains. Would the smoke be visible from here? The memory of their screams sent a shock through her system. She hoped they were dead before the fire was lit. 

In her mind, she threw back the covers and ran through the house. She tore through the countryside to the Beddor estate, discovering what remained there. She would hold Clare’s body to her own and weep endlessly. 

But in reality, she just turned over to her side, unable to fathom putting her feet on the ground. Placing her hands under her pillow she felt the unmistakable smooth texture of paper. She pulled out her unopened letter, a piece of parchment wrapped loosely around it. 

She unwrapped the parchment and read the script. 

_ I must commend your will in resisting our glamors so. I’m sure I needn’t remind you the importance of your discretion, but I will do so anyway. Your sister’s life depends on it. _

_   
_ The note wasn’t addressed, but it didn’t need to be. No one but Azalea would have written it. After a moment she got out of bed and stalked over to the fireplace. From a box on the mantle she removed some flint. She lit one of her candles and tipped a corner of the note into the flame. Only when the flame began to lick her fingertips did she drop the letter into the fireplace. 

She held out the letter to Clare, considering it for a moment. 

_ Useless _

She held it over the flame, watching the corner catch. Let it and the memories it carried be burned like Clare was. Let it be forgotten the way everything else was - to everyone but her. 

Nesta threw open her curtains and let the sunshine in. She then walked back to her bedside table and picked up a silver serving bell. She rang it twice, and Jenny entered. 

“Do not let me sleep in again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter, I know. But I needed to separate this from the next chapter, Feyre's return. And I couldn't interrupt the flow with the insert of Azalea's POV. 
> 
> Speaking of which, check out the second fic in the series for some special chapters, including Azalea's POV of Clare's kidnapping!


	14. Feyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre returns and seems... fine?

A stranger’s carriage coming down the drive was hardly a surprise around the Archeron estate. Elain’s success in wooing society, the Mr. Archeron’s success in business meant that they constantly had visitors calling on them. But this carriage was odd.

No less than 6 white horses pulled this gilded monstrosity. It was the largest, the most opulent, and frankly the tackiest carriage she’d ever beheld. And the luggage it carried, packed to the gills with trunks and boxes, whoever it carried was not intending a short visit. 

This is all the rest of the household saw. Nesta however, noted one other detail. The driver was not human. He was not as starkly different as Azalea. The man was tall, even as he sat. His long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, with delicately pointed ears jutting through the strands. An ornate mask was fixed to his face. 

Nesta felt her stomach clench and she burst down the stairs, towards the door, determined to get in front of Elain. To shove her back inside, if needed. Whatever reason it had to be here, it could not be good. 

She watched through the front window as over half of the staff came to the driveway to watch this carriage come in, all starstruck at the site. It was paused for a long moment before Connor remembered his duties and opened the carriage door, extending a hand to the rider. 

The woman was gorgeous - and human. Shiny brown hair fell gracefully around her shoulders. Her dress of pink silk was layered and stitched with immaculate white and blue point lace at the hem. Her jacket and hat had matching lace, all a perfectly bright white, unworn. 

What was this human doing riding with a fae? Was she also being watched? Did she work with them willingly? 

Nesta used her curtsy as an excuse to keep her gaze low, to keep the contempt for the traitor from showing on her face.

“Welcome to our home, Lady…” she drew out the last syllable into a question. The barking laugh that answered was startling. 

“Nesta,” she laughed, “Nesta don’t you recognize your own sister?” There was no mistaking that voice. 

“Feyre?” Elain asked. 

Nesta looked up again, eyes raking over her sister’s new body. Feyre had gained much needed weight, as Nesta and Elain had. Where she had once been a scrawny mess of muscle and bone, she now had rounded curves, and honest-to-Wall breasts. Her face was rounded, her cheekbones, while still prominent, no longer cut aggressive lines across her face. Finally her eyes, so long filled with nothing but endless despair and contempt, had softened. She was smiling. 

It struck Nesta that she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Feyre smile. 

“What of Aunt Ripliegh, then? Is she… dead?” Elain’s question was unknowingly the perfect test. Nesta watched confusion passed through Feyre’s expression before she settled into a truly awful impersonation of grief. Her nod was equally hesitant. 

“She left you her fortune,” Nesta stated, it was the only possible explanation for a return with this amount of wealth that didn’t involve the truth. She offered the lie for Feyre, so that High Fae babysitter to hear and report back to that beast that they were playing along. 

Elain went on for some time, chattering about how sad it was Ripliegh died, that their father missed it, that Feyre had to face it alone. For her part, Feyre seemed to just peacefully listen, not adding details to the story the way Nesta had learned glamored humans tend to. 

_ So she  _ was  _ aware of everything _ . 

Nesta didn’t know if that was better or worse. This relaxed, elegant Feyre was a stranger, but she was still Feyre, maybe. Nesta tested the waters, watching her youngest sister carefully, determined to find any hint that she’d been truly taken in by the Fae. 

“Why are you being so quiet?” 

“I’m… glad to see how well your own fortunes have improved, what happened?” she was clearly stretching for a distraction. But Nesta still bumped on her wording.  _ Yours.  _ She did not consider herself to be one of them. 

Maybe she never had. 

Elain chattered on, explaining the events of these last 6 months. Nesta scoffed quietly at Elain’s easy dismissal of the post. As though their father hadn’t made much of his fortune by mail. Glamors were truly something to behold. 

Nesta kept a careful eye on Feyre. She seemed genuinely surprised at their current wealth, and she seemed uncomfortable with it. She had to be aware it was purchased with her life. But why was she back? Would it be taken away now? 

Nesta didn’t like how much losing this estate would hurt her. That it would be a sacrifice, to give it up, keep Feyre, and be banished to that hovel. But she’d do it in a heartbeat, glad her sister was back, in one piece. 

But the way Feyre watched that carriage and it’s driver go, the wistful look in her eyes… did she even want to stay? 

Nesta shook her head, pushing the thoughts far away. The fae have magic, who knows how they manipulated her, what they did to her. She was here now, among her family.

* * *

For fuck’s sake, was Feyre always  _ this  _ bad at lying?    
  


She was lucky her family and the staff were glamored, because this was just sad. No details were added, no embellishments made, just basic, cagey, minimal detail. That potentially could have been written off as grief. She supposedly spent 6 months nursing the poor woman. But then there was her reaction to the wealth she “inherited”. Nesta wanted to snap at Feyre to pick her jaw up off the floor.

She also wanted her father to stop salivating so publicly. It was uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as watching Feyre eat. Had they done something to her appetite in Prythian?

Elain carried on about the season, reconnecting to old friends, the clothes she’d worn, the events she’d been to. Their father joined in occasionally, backing up Elain’s assertion that something was better than something else. 

But all Nesta could do was watch Feyre struggle through eating. How she’d take a bite of something, and then attempt to hold her expression into something other than disgust, and then wash the bite down with some wine or water. She must have gone through six glasses that night. 

Nesta kept silent, mostly just requesting course changes from the staff, thanking them for their effort. But Elain turned the conversation to her. 

“We’ll have a ball in Feyre’s honor, won’t we?” 

_ “... attend a mother fucking ball.” _

Before Nesta could answer either way, their father cut in. “Of course we will. Feyre’s return is our greatest cause for celebration.” He smiled at his youngest and a look of pain passed through Feyre’s eyes. Like maybe she was remembering the same thing Nesta was. Him, broken and limping, telling her never to come back.

Nesta saw red. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to throw herself across the table and wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze and squeeze until he finally admitted he didn’t really love them. He never really loved them. He loved his money and he sold her off for the sake of that money, and he’d do it again. 

_ “Ladies do not rough house”  _   
  


Nesta turned her attention back to Feyre as the conversation continued. She was struck by perhaps the worst realization. Feyre was fine. There were a couple of quirks here and there, but on the whole, she seemed fine. 

Maybe she just had no stomach for rich food after 8 years of roughing it? 

Maybe she really didn’t know the scope of her inheritance?   
Maybe she actually spent 6 months reading by Aunt Ripliegh’s bedside. 

That night, for the first time in 2 months, Nesta slept holding on to the painted table leg. 

* * *

Feyre was following Elain around in her garden. Nesta stayed enough away that she didn’t hear their conversation, but was close enough to help if Elain asked. Feyre wouldn’t ask, she never needed help. 

Luckily Darrow was nearby, cataloging which plants Elain had taken for her plot. “Gonna need to order more tulips,” he muttered. 

“Order them next year, we already spent too much on flowers,” Nesta sighed, looking over her ledger, “what else do we need?”    
  


“I’d like to look into building a store house. We need a place to actually stock the wheat.”

“I’ll reach out to a carpenter tomorrow,” she knew this was coming, but she wasn’t entirely thrilled with having such a large expense, especially with Feyre’s ball now coming up. 

Darrow took his leave and Nesta turned to look over her lands. She’d never admit it to her father, but she was glad he bought this place. She loved it. She knew it was too big for Elain, would be too uptight for Feyre, but this place was perfect for her. 

There was so much opportunity here. So much potential. Elain and her father may want to go sail the world, but Nesta was content to stay right here and make the best of this lot. For as long as she had it.

* * *

Nesta had no interest in running another event, and Elain seemed so excited, so she let her plan it. It was short notice, but most of the invitees accepted anyway. Elain explained that between the novelty of Feyre’s debut and the success of the Solstice, she would have been more surprised if people turned it down. 

The only comfort in her sister’s behavior was how clearly uncomfortable Feyre was with the whole affair. From the extravagant dress to the expensive decor to the expansive guest list. Feyre’s look of disgust at the growing bill was the first expression of hers Nesta recognized.

But when Feyre wasn’t with Elain, when she was by herself in the gardens or standing by a window, seemingly unaware of Nesta’s presence, the solemn sadness of longing overtook her features and she looked away. Looked North. Looked to Prythian. 

It wasn’t painful to realize that this was in fact Feyre, and that she didn’t consider this house her home. Nesta had never entertained the idea of it ever being her home. She hadn’t thought she’d see Feyre again. Not since the Wall. Not since she chose Elain’s safety over Feyre’s life. 

But now, the way she looked to Prythian, the bored and miserable expression she wore around the house. Her discomfort with everything from the food to the house to the staff. Feyre didn’t belong here. She never would. And it seemed to Nesta that Feyre’s beast had never harmed her. Had taken care of her instead. 

It was the day Nesta finally admitted that this is the real Feyre that she finally approached her for a real conversation. She walked over as her youngest sister stood examining her injured, calloused, and dirt stained hands.

“Even if you washed them, there’d be no hiding it. To fit in, you’d have to wear gloves and never take them off.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to fit in with your social circles.” The bite in her tone stung, Nesta couldn’t help but respond in kind. 

“Then why are you bothering to stay here?” 

“It’s my home, isn’t it?” The way she said it, only confirmed what Nesta had been suspecting. 

“No it’s not. I think your home is somewhere very far away.” 

“Aunt Ripliegh’s house-” 

“There is no Aunt Ripliegh.” Nesta reached into her skirt pocket and threw the damn table leg on the ground. She gave the words time to sink in, watched the realization bloom on Feyre’s face. 

“Your beast’s little trick didn’t work on me. Apparently, an iron will is all it takes to keep a glamour from digging in. So I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I’d gone mad—but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn’t in my head.”

It took everything Nesta had to keep her voice calm and even, to keep a tight hold on the emotions that threatened to break her apart. 

“Elain said—said you went to visit me, though. That you tried,” Feyre’s voice was so soft, so full of surprised wonder and disbelief, as though trying to get Feyre back was what made Nesta’s words unbelievable. Did she really think so little of her sister? 

_ Had I never given her a reason not to? _

“He stole you away into the night, claiming some nonsense about the Treaty. And then everything went on as if it had never happened. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.” 

“You went after me,” Feyre’s entire body seemed to relax, as though some great weight had finally been lifted. “You went after me—to Prythian.”

“I got to the wall. I couldn’t find a way through.” Feyre’s hand gripped her throat, as that truly surprised her. 

“You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?” Nesta wanted to laugh a little. Feyre always had a way to make things sound harder than they were. 

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?” 

“It wasn’t right.” It wasn’t. The beast stole her away, gave a reason that Nesta knew couldn’t be true. And the horrors she could have been subjected to, the way fae had always treated humans, how could she not go? 

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” The question tore at Nesta. The truth, the whole truth she could never tell, so she gave a partial one. 

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.” 

“Tomas never deserved you anyway,” her words were so soft, so genuine. It was true though, he never did deserve her. But it was never a question of what  _ he _ deserved. Nesta took a quiet breath and readjusted herself to this moment, looking to her sister with clear eyes. 

“Tell me everything that happened,” Nesta extended her hand to Feyre. Her sister took it and allowed herself to be led through the gardens. 

Feyre started at the beginning, from when she left. The white mare who had carried her into the woods, the scent of magic putting her to sleep when she dared to ask her captor questions. She described waking up outside of a beautiful green estate. Learning her captors name. 

_ A High Lord? _ Nesta nearly lost her composure at that. But she kept quiet, holding her tongue until Feyre said all she had to say. 

_ You thought father would bother to come for you?  _

Nesta felt absurd disbelief at the tale of this failed escape attempt. Feyre always had maintained this awful hope in their father, that he was better than he was, that he was worth something. But he was always a coward. A lazy, weak, coward too afraid to ever do anything for himself, too afraid to risk anything. A merchant through and through, only ever the middleman of other people’s efforts, never spending his own. 

Nesta thought Lucien sounded like a tool, especially when she learned how he sent her after the Suriel. At least she had Alis, though the mask thing seemed weird. It explained the appearance of that fae who returned her at least. And the High Lord, Tamlin, had given Feyre paint; she hadn’t been able to indulge in that since Elain bought her paint. 

Feyre explained the run-ins with the Attor, the mentions of this woman, Amaranthra, the blight. Nesta recalled how the wall kept her out, what it showed her. She wondered if the visions she saw then were as or less terrifying than this Attor. 

When she explained the events of Calanmai, the barbaric ceremony, Nesta’s mind wandered back to the season opening. She wondered quietly if she was able to witness the gift of magic being restored to Azalea, all while Feyre was hidden in her room. But after the events of Calanmai, the way Feyre began to talk about this Tamlin. Nesta didn’t need to know Feyre well to know that she had fallen in love. 

Her story continued, days in the forest, learning that she had been glamored the entire time. It all described this perfect experience of a budding love. It seemed, to Nesta, too perfect. She didn’t like how easily, or how long, Tamlin had hid things from her. 

Then came the solstice, and Nesta couldn’t stop the roaring in her ears as Feyre described the perfect night. Dancing, drinking, kissing at dawn. It was the night she should have had with Clare, the night she had ruined. 

Then that other High Lord, Rhysand, came. He had threatened Tamlin and Feyre. And Nesta understood, finally, the letter Azalea had left her, why he had stopped her that night. It wasn’t the Fae that took Feyre that threatened her life, it was these Night Court fae. These monsters who delighted in the pain and agony of others. The kind that would kill an entire family for sport. 

She listened as Feyre described Tamlin on his knees, begging for Feyre to be spared. She clenched her jaw as Feyre described her tryst with Tamlin. And she held her tongue as Feyre described Tamlin sending her away. 

When she was done, Feyre looked at her sister with big blue eyes. This expression... this expression was new to Nesta. This was Feyre seeking her sister’s approval, her understanding. She had fallen in love with a fae, as good as admitted it, and she wanted to go back as soon as she could, and she wanted her sister’s approval. Nesta couldn’t say what she had been thinking, the only thing she was thinking, about this male. 

_ Honestly, Feyre, he sounds like father.  _

Instead, she offered an olive branch, a validation of a deeper part of Feyre, one she had finally been able to explore in the Spring Court. A part Nesta wanted Feyre to be free to explore here as well. 

“Would you teach me to paint?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at some point, I realized Tamlin and Mr. Archeron (he doesn't have a name in cannon) has certain similarities. Mainly that they both do nothing with their loved ones are in danger, and both completely shut down when they lose. (see Frost and Starlight)   
> And they both tried to clean up their broken relationships with a single grand gesture. 
> 
> We don't spend enough time with the Prince of Merchants in cannon, but I uh... well the prologue definitely infers some other similarities. 
> 
> Yeah! 
> 
> Anyway, comment, review, whatever floats your boat. 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr at Saphie3243 (got a new twitter!)


	15. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painting lessons, balls, and brunch. It's time for Feyre to go home.

“Painting is about capturing the emotions of the moment and giving them form.”

Perhaps painting lessons were a bad idea. 

Nesta stared at her sister with the cruelest look of disbelief. How in the hell was this the same woman who would stalk into their hut covered in dirt and blood, hauling various carcusses larger than herself?   
  


Long seconds of uncomfortable silence finally broke Feyre into speaking again. 

“So what would you like to paint?” 

“What do you recommend?” 

“I don’t know your mind, Nesta. What do you feel like painting?” 

“If I do not know what I am capable of painting how could I possibly know what to paint?” 

Feyre rubbed her eyes and looked out the window. 

“Fine, a landscape then.” 

They adjusted the easels so they may look out the window. From this room they could view the lawns, the sheep grazing idly, and the farms, now sprouting underripe wheat and barley. 

“Start by tracing the general outline of the painting with charcoal.” 

Nesta nodded and did so. It wasn’t particularly refined artistry, but she was generally able to trace the delineations between field, forest and sky. Her sheep were little more than white ovals, but that was well enough. This was just to provide a guide, according to Feyre. 

When they moved onto actually applying paint to canvas, more trouble ensued. 

“I don’t have the right shade of green,” Nesta commented, looking at the bottles of paint next to her easel. 

“You need to mix it,” Feyre said. 

“How do I do that?” 

“Combine the white and green paint.”   
  


“Ok…” Nesta picked up the bottle of green and white, she looked at them and back to her sister. “How?” Feyre kept her eyes on her own paints, pouring some onto her palate as she responded. 

“Start with the white and mix the green in slowly.”

“Ok… Feyre it’s too dark.”   
  


“Add more white.” Feyre was stroking some of paint on the canvas, considering which shade she liked more. 

“I don’t have any more white, I put the green in it.” At Nesta’s words Feyre snapped her hand around. Nesta had poured the green paint directly into the white jar. 

“You’re supposed to use the palate!” 

“Well you didn’t say that. What, was I just supposed to read your mind?” Feyre rubbed her temples and took a deep breath in. 

“Give me your palate.” Feyre transferred the color she just mixed to Nesta’s palate. “Use that.”

“Ok, what next?” 

“Paint the grass.” 

“How?” 

“What do you mean how?” 

“What position should my hand be in? How much pressure should I use? How long should the strokes be?” Nesta asked. 

Feyre stared down her sister. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself, realizing, finally, that Nesta did not possess an artistic bone in her body. 

“Just, copy what I do.” 

Nesta nodded, and did just that. Content to watch Feyre’s technique and copy it exactly. The result was a perfectly adequate painting and a perfectly peaceful afternoon. Occasionally she would ask why Feyre chose a certain color, or why she used a certain brush stroke, but the answer was never satisfactory and always the same. “It just felt right.”

It never really occurred to Nesta how much Feyre was intune with her emotions, how readily she drew on them. Nesta always thought Feyre more like herself than Elain, logical and calculating. But here, with this activity, Feyre was more emotional, more _open_ than even Elain. 

She studied the two landscapes they were making. Nesta had been following her instructions, had been copying her movements, but Feyre’s painting… there was a strangeness to it, an uncertainty. Nesta could feel Feyre’s discomfort with this place, feel how it was not _her_ home, but a place she was unsure of. She could feel it because Ferye had put it there. How did she do it? How did she isolate just one emotion and inject it into the canvas? 

Nesta had too many, they clawed over each other, at her insides, begging to overflow and overtake. It took everything she had to hold them in, push them down. 

Ultimately, Nesta decided she didn’t particularly like painting. But she did like that she didn’t need to pretend here in this room. She didn’t need to hold her tongue when Elain mentioned her excitement at seeing Ms. So-and-So who had abandoned them to starvation. She didn’t need to pretend that her father hadn’t been willing to let them die. She didn’t need to pretend that Feyre had been with an aunt. She didn’t need to pretend that everything was alright. 

So she came here everyday, with Feyre. Her sister would paint whatever she wanted, and Nesta would copy her brush strokes. It was quiet companionship, pure and simple. Nesta had never felt so close to her sister. She knew that Feyre would leave eventually, go back to that High Lord of hers, and she would take this time with her while she could.

They stayed in this pattern through the day of the ball, avoiding the staff and Elain. Elain, who was using the _lanterns_ to decorate the drive. Elain, who now murmured with her father that this might be a more successful night than the solstice party. 

He pet her head and she leaned into his shoulder. Nesta knew Feyre was taking in this scene with equally mixed emotions. How dare they mention the solstice. How dare they be happy. How dare they move on. 

Nesta turned on her heel and made her way back to her suite to get dressed. Feyre followed silently, not questioning, not pressing her. But the quiet presence Nesta felt from her- Feyre was there, aware, and listening. So before she opened the door to her chambers, where Jenny would be waiting to get her ready for a ball she absolutely did not want to go to, Nesta spoke. 

“There are days when I want to ask him if he remembers the years he almost let us starve to death.” 

“You spent every copper I could get, too,” Feyre’s voice was gentle, not judgemental. 

“I knew you could always get more. And if you couldn’t, then I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. If he would actually go out and fight for us.” Nesta closed her eyes and finally resolved to let go of all the pretence she had with her sister. “I couldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more. I still do.” 

“Does he know?” 

> _"I HATE YOU, YOU USELESS COWARD "_
> 
> _"Nesta! Ladies do not raise their voice!"_
> 
> _She was too delirious to even know why she was scolding her eldest daughter, to realize what she had said, only that it was shouted._

“He’s always known I hate him, even before we became poor. He let Mother die—he had a fleet of ships at his disposal to sail across the world for a cure, or he could have hired men to go into Prythian and beg them for help. But he let her waste away.” Nesta blinked back the memories of her mother, so weak near the end.

“He loved her—he grieved for her.” That’s not enough. He wouldn’t have needed to grieve if he had tried, if he had fought for her. 

“He let her die. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.” _As I tried to do for you, Clare._

 _  
_ _Useless._

“Yes, I would have.”

And Feyre would actually succeed. 

* * *

The ball was needlessly extravagant, wasted on Feyre who clearly did not want it.

Feyre was given a grand entrance, a formal debut, and it was ridiculous. Her dress was too fine, too tight, Elain had the maid give her a tiara for fuck’s sake. The make up was impeccable, but too heavy for her. In their wish to make her look like a lady, they made her a whore. 

When their father immediately led Feyre to a batch of suitors, Nesta realized that’s exactly what was intended. She was independently and immensely wealthy, thanks to the money Tamlin had given her. Anyone would be lucky to marry her, and it could be leveraged to any number of favorable business deals. 

It was one thing to throw Elain at the pack of suitors, she at least enjoyed it. But Feyre… this was a punishment. Nesta stalked over to Feyre after the first dance and cut in. 

“Get punch with me,” Nesta ordered. 

“She is to dance with me next,” Adam McCray tried to respond. Nesta raised a single eyebrow, unsmiling. 

“You honestly think _you’re_ a candidate? Your debts would use up her entire fortune before the honeymoon,” she scoffed before leading Feyre away to the punch bowl. 

“Thank you,” Feyre whispered. Nesta didn’t really respond, she just kept by her side. 

Other suitors would try to approach, bowing first to them. Feyre would curtsy in response, but Nesta stood still, watching them, pinning them in place. Each would try to flirt, and each would fail. 

“I have never seen a more lovely creature” 

“Won’t your maid be offended to hear you speak of another woman so?” 

“May I be so bold as to-” 

“Bastards may not” 

“I shall very much like the chance to get to know you more”

“She’s allergic to hay”

Nesta made a note to thank Jenny and her love of gossip - and her apparent fondness for her mistress. It gave her the ammunition she needed. Feyre might be the hunter, the fighter, but she did not know how to wield weapons that work in high society. 

Feyre was mostly quiet, no doubt overwhelmed by all the people. Nesta was fine with this, as she wasn’t feeling so chatty either. Not when she watched the dancers, the food, the dresses, and could only think of how much Clare would have loved it. 

_Clare should be here instead._

The thought shocked Nesta. She quickly grabbed her own arm and dug her nails in, using the physical pain to banish the thought. Feyre’s presence here had nothing to do with Clare’s absence. She died. She died because some dark fae decided to target her. Feyre was the reason Nesta lived. Tamlin had sent Azalea to watch over them for Feyre’s sake, and it kept Nesta away from the hunt. 

Besides, even if she was living, there was no guarantee she would have accepted Nesta’s letter, that she’d want to be here now. 

Feyre excused herself to the privy around midnight, and Nesta sighed, keeping vigil on their spot in the corner of the room. Elain approached from a gaggle of dancing debutants, looking rather sour at her elder sister. 

“I know you aren’t fond of these events, but could you at least try to let Feyre meet people, have fun?” Elain asked, crossing her arms. 

“She doesn’t like this, Elain.”

“She doesn’t know if she likes it or not, you aren’t giving her a chance to try.”   
  


“And I should what, parade her around to all these sycophants who don’t care about anything other than the size of her pocketbook?”   
  


“You did for Clare,” Elain stated, her expression tense, challenging. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”   
  


“How could I? You _won’t_ talk about it,” Elain answered, then softened. “She was my friend, too.” 

Nesta couldn’t stand there another second. Elain didn’t know, couldn’t know, the truth. No one did. Jenny and Connor might have been willing to gossip about the letter, but Azalea’s glamor seemed to wipe that night from their memories. To her, Clare was just their friend. 

“She really wasn’t.” Nesta swiped a bottle of scotch on her way back to her room.

  
  


* * *

Breakfast was more like lunch, featuring four hungover Archerons sitting in utter silence. Ok, three tired Archerons and one hungover enough for the rest of them. Nesta was pulling apart a croissant, hoping it would soak up the scotch still sloshing around her stomach when her father decided to say possibly the most insensitive sentence she’d ever heard. 

“I’m thinking of buying the Beddor land,” the words cut through her headache and brought her rapidly into awareness. “I heard a rumor it’ll go up for sale soon, since none of the family survived, and it would be a good investment property. Perhaps one of you girls might build a house on it when you’re ready.” 

Elain looked… excited about this notion. She was looking up at their father with a look of expectation. How could she be so calm about this? Didn’t she just claim that Clare was her friend too?? 

“What happened to the Beddors?” 

“Oh, it was awful,” Elain glanced at Nesta. “Their house burned down, and everyone died. Well, they couldn’t find Clare’s body, but …” Nesta’s head shot up at that. _What_? “It happened in the dead of night—the family, their servants, everyone. The day before you came home to us, actually.” 

“Clare Beddor,” something in how she said that made Nesta turn her head to Feyre. Her hand was covering her mouth, her expression was horror and guilt. _No._

“Our friend, remember?” Elain reminded, gently, more to Nesta than Feyre. 

“Feyre?” Father asked.

“Quiet,” Nesta hissed, not at all interested in what he had to say right now. Frankly, not very interested in what Elain had to say either. Feyre turned to Nesta. _The fae asked for my name, I knew I couldn’t give him my real name._

“You must listen very carefully. Everything I have told you must remain a secret. You do not come looking for me. You do not speak my name again to anyone.”

Their father was speaking, but whatever he was saying was so far away it didn’t matter. 

“I think something very bad might be happening in Prythian,” _But I had to give him something before he looked deeper in my mind._

“Prythian!” Father and Elain blurted. Nesta held up a hand to silence them. The nausea in her stomach was more from Feyre’s words than her hangover. 

“If you won’t leave, then hire guards—hire scouts to watch the wall, the forest. The village, too.” She rose from the table and began to leave the dining room. “The first sign of danger, the first rumor you hear of the wall being breached or even something being strange, you get on a ship and go. You sail far away, as far south as you can get, to someplace the faeries would never desire.” She ran up the stairs. Nesta followed, needing her to admit it. To confirm what Nesta was dreading from the moment Feyre said Clare Beddor’s name. 

“The Beddors,” she said. “That was meant to be us. But you gave them a fake name—those wicked faeries who threatened your High Lord.” Some part of her had suspected from the moment Feyre told her about that incident. But she kept that part buried deep, unwilling to dwell on the implications, and she couldn’t dwell on them now. “Is there going to be an invasion?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I was told that there was a kind of sickness that had made their powers weaken or go wild, a blight on the land that had damaged the safety of their borders and could kill people if it struck badly enough. They—they said it was surging again … on the move. The last I heard, it wasn’t near enough to harm our lands. But if the Spring Court is about to fall, then the blight has to be getting close, and Tamlin … Tamlin was one of the last bastions keeping the other courts in check—the deadly courts. And I think he’s in danger.” Nesta focused on that, on the war that could kill them all. Not on her- Clare. Keeping Feyre here, beating her to death for giving that name, of all names, would not help. 

But sending her away would. Nesta helped strip and change Feyre. She was watching her sister braid her hair when she said, with all the calm she could muster. 

“We don’t need you here, Feyre. Do not look back. Father once told you to never come back, “and I’m telling you now. We can take care of ourselves.” _And I don’t know if I can ever look at you again._

She strapped weapons to her side and said. “They can lie, Faeries can lie, and iron doesn’t bother them one bit. But ash wood—that seems to work. Take my money and buy a damned grove of it for Elain to tend.” Nesta shook her head, clutching her bracelet, her armor. _So it’s useless, too._ She looked back at Feyre, strapped head to toe in weapons but still so young, so small, so human, For a moment, her ire was gone, and she was just looking at her baby sister, Little Feyre, being sent into the belly of the beast. 

“What do you think you can even do to help? He’s a High Lord—you’re just a human.” 

“I don’t care, but I’ve got to try.” Nesta didn’t move as Feyre started to leave, if she followed, she might try and stop her, or she might try and kill her. Feyre turned back to her and said. 

“There is a better world, Nesta. There is a better world out there, waiting for you to find it. And if I ever get the chance, if things are ever better, safer … I will find you again.” It was all a lie. And as much as Nesta wanted to hurt her- destroy her for what she did to Clare- she didn’t want her to die, couldn’t let Clare’s death be in vain. So she summoned the confident mask she’d spent 23 years wearing. 

“Don’t bother. I don’t think I’d be particularly fond of faeries. Try to send word once it’s safe. And if it ever is … Father and Elain can have this place. I think I’d like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with a fortune and a good name.”

Nesta threw up all over the floor the second Feyre left. 

_Her life for Elain’s happiness, and my happiness for our lives. No one gets to choose the cost in the end, do they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta "I keep all my emotions right here, and then I die" Archeron. 
> 
> Elain gets to have some words next chapter.


	16. Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre's gone again and life moves on

Elain found Nesta crumpled on the floor in Feyre’s room, covered in her own sick. 

“Oh my, Nesta!” Elain rushed over and tried to haul her off of the floor by the arms, but wasn’t having much luck. “Help, please! I need help in here!” 

Jenny came running in. “Oh my goodness” 

“Help me get her into her room,” Elain ordered. Nesta was somewhere else, somewhere far away, far within. Feyre was gone, back to “Aunt Ripliegh’s”. Maybe she’d say Feyre was taking over her estate? More lies, more lying. More pretending. Everything is fine. Feyre just eloped with Darius after the ball and ran away to Aunt Ripliegh’s stables. 

Nesta laughed at her own internal quip. Slow at first, soft, then building and building until she was shaking with hysterical laughter. What joke. All of it. What a horrible horrible joke. Elain was saying something, asking her something, but Nesta couldn’t hear it, couldn’t bear to try. 

She had let Feyre hunt alone in those woods. She was useless and mean and craven and cruel. She let Feyre get taken by the fae. She turned around at the Wall because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do better, because she couldn’t leave Elain alone if she failed. She lived it up in this estate, letting them get more and more dependent on the fae, on Feyre being in that beast’s good graces. In 8 years, Feyre made one mistake where Nesta made hundreds. After all Feyre had sacrificed for their family, she earned it. She should be- would be- forgiven. 

And tomorrow, when asked, Nesta will say she told Feyre to never come back because she wanted Feyre to be the one Archeron who could actually save their love and receive her happily ever after. That Feyre owed them nothing more but her happiness. 

But now, Nesta knew she sent her away because she never wanted to see her again. Because she wasn’t capable of forgiving her sister one simple, stupid, deadly mistake. Even after all she had done. 

Nesta laughed harder. 

_ What a horrible person I am.  _

Her laughter turned to tears. Nesta wiped them away and was surprised to find her face wetter as a result. Because her hand was wet, because most of her was wet, because she was naked in her bathtub with Elain sitting behind her, holding her tight. Nesta’s hands gripped her sister’s arms as she cried. 

“It’s ok, she’s going to be ok, I’m here. I’m here.” Elain was petting Nesta’s head, hair, shoulders, brushing kisses to the crown of her head and pressing hugs to her body. Elain’s dress floated in the water around them. She hadn’t even bothered to change, she just jumped in with her sister, ready to comfort and soothe all she could. 

Eventually Nesta’s tears ran dry, and her throat grew sore, and her breath returned to its even pace. She still looked and felt like hell, but she was Nesta again. 

“You ruined your dress,” Nesta quipped, her voice broken and hoarse. 

“I have others,” Elain answered with equal softness, before adding, “She will be alright, you know. Feyre is stronger than us.” Nesta’s eyes widened. 

“Y-you know?” 

“Yes. The memories, they came back. Both father and I remember everything now.” Nesta turned around to look in her eyes, they were clearer than she’d seen them in months. Elain laughed a little, she’d not seen Nesta this... vulnerable in years. Not since they were small. “Let’s get changed, we can talk more dry.” 

They stood up and got out of the tub. They’d call in one of the maids to drain it later. They dried off and changed, Elain taking one of Nesta’s shifts and dressing gowns. Moving to the couch of the sitting room, Nesta bade Elain to turn around and started braiding her hair back. 

“Did you go to the Wall?” was Elain’s first question. 

“Y-yes, but… I couldn’t cross, so I came back.” 

“Is Azalea…?” 

“It’s a fae.”

“That’s why you were so uncomfortable with him.”    
  


“Yes.” 

“Nesta, I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard.” 

“It’s not your fault. Fae magic is to blame.”    
  


“But you resisted.” Nesta ignored the awe and the praise in her sister’s voice. She was silent for a moment. 

“I… I told her to go. To not come back,” Nesta said quietly, tying off the braid. 

Elain turned around and held Nesta’s hand. 

“I had a horse and supplies ready for her to go.” Nesta only nodded and turned around, allowing Elain to start on her hair. “Whatever is going on over there, Clare was… taken?” she asked, quietly. 

Nesta sighed, Feyre hadn’t had the chance to Elain everything, so Nesta summarized. 

“The beast that stole Feyre… was the High Lord of Spring. They, he and Feyre, fell in love. Apparently there is a blight, some evil invading his lands. One of the evil fae threatened them, threatened Feyre, and then demanded her name. She gave a fake one.” 

“She gave Clare’s.” Elain said, not as a question. 

“Yes,” Nesta answered. 

“Oh Nesta, I’m so sorry,” Elain threw her arms around her sister once more. Nesta stiffened and pulled away. Elain let go. 

“She was your friend, too,” Nesta said, “and the circumstances of her death do not change the reality of what we have known for two weeks now.” Her temper was starting to flair again, the emptiness of her soul starting to fill with emotion once more. “How could you be so cavalier about it? About buying her land?” 

“Oh Nesta,” Elain shrunk, “I wanted to buy the land because… because I could not imagine anyone else buying it. If it is us, then at least the land goes to people who loved the Beddors, who loved Clare. I did not mean to sound as though I didn’t love her. She was a dear friend.” Elain gripped Nesta’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Nesta squeezed back and nodded. 

They sat in silence for a moment and then Elain asked. “What now?” 

“Now…”Nesta sighed, “Now we talk to father. Spread a rumor that Feyre was secretly engaged to a man she met at Aunt Ripliegh’s, that she only came home to gain father’s approval. When he refused, she ran away back to the estate. Enough of a scandal to make it uncouth to ask us for more detail, but not enough that we ourselves may be ruined.”    
  


“It will be highly suspicious though,” Elain commented, “for us to hold a ball if she came with an engagement.” 

“Not if we did not know of the betrothed before the ball, if the news came afterwards. Or if we held the ball with the purpose of introducing her to another. The singularity will make the gossip interesting. Ensure it gets talked about.” 

Elain nodded, “Alright, I will call on the Rutlands, they will get the rumor to all.” 

“Do call on them, and tell them of Feyre’s leaving, but no more than that. We cannot start the rumor ourselves.” 

“Then how?”    
  


“The way all truly terrible news spreads,” Nesta smiled an evil grin, “Jenny!” 

They had Jenny fetch their father to meet them in the parlor downstairs, and had her send in servants to serve them tea and pastries. In the lower parlor, the butlers, maids, and the cooks all were sure to hear Nesta’s screeching about her ridiculous sister’s reckless actions. 

With the complete fuss they kicked up about it, there was little doubt that every servant in the country would know of their misfortune by the week’s end.

* * *

Life continued on. 

Though Elain and their father now knew the truth, they spoke of Feyre even less than they had before. They could not risk the servants overhearing the truth, and, if either were being honest, it simply hurt too much. So they went back to the lives they lived before her return. 

Elain spent more time taking tea and dinner with her acquaintances in the weeks after her sister’s departure than she ever had. She made a special effort to repair the damage created by the rumor, and by the rudeness of Feyre and Nesta’s conduct at the ball. Being twice as pleasant as Nesta was nasty proved to be all the balm needed. 

Nesta, for her part, was polite to the guests for a change. Dinners she would quietly sit through; teas she would join briefly and excuse herself on business about the estate. And she did have business. Neglecting the farm during Feyre’s visit was a stupid choice, and letting Elain plan the ball with no hoverhead put quite a dent in the family budget. Especially since Nesta decided not to touch Feyre’s money - that was to ensure Elain’s survival. 

Nesta was discussing certain cuts in expenses with Mrs. Cowell when her father came to interrupt her. 

“Beef is too expensive. We’ll serve it tonight to our guests, but I’d rather cut it from the day to day meals.” 

“Yes ma’am” 

“We aren’t short of money, you know,” the worst voice came from behind her. Nesta turned towards her father as he approached, slamming both the copies of the ledgers she kept in her own parlor and his own on the table. At the sight of them, Mrs. Cowell took her leave, knowing this would not be a conversation for her ears. “Just because you chose to record household and business wealth separately does not mean the wealth from my business does not exist.“ 

“Your businesses were successful while you had the assistance of a certain patron. Now that they are out of the picture you’ll forgive me if past experience leads to doubt in your skill as a tradesman.” Ice and condescension oozed from her words, each one landing like that perfect slap. 

“Is that why you’ve been editing my ledgers, altering my accounts? To hide my own wealth from me?” 

Nesta clicked her tongue. She had been, for the past 5 months, inventing transactions and changing the numbers he had, diverting and securing funds for the maintenance of the estate, hiding it from him to prevent its re-investment in his businesses. 

“Guess Feyre’s money was too large a sum to overlook.” 

“It was audacious, even for you.” He sighed, “And ingenious. You should have been born a man, you think like one.” 

“Should I take that as an insult to your sex or mine?” 

“Neither, but knowing you, you'd make it both,” he picked up Nesta’s ledgers and handed her one. The one she used to track household income and expenses. “Look.” She opened the book to the latest recorded transaction, an influx of several hundred gold pieces. She snapped her head up to look at him, and before she could ask he spoke. “That should cover the party. You are right, separating the household and business wealth is wise. Keep the ledger, you are the lady of this house more than I its lord. It is yours to manage as you see fit, all I ask is that you let me transfer profits to you and Elain from time to time.” 

Nesta considered his words, his offer. It was really nothing. All he was really offering her was an acknowledgement of the current status quo. But it was more than she ever dared ask for from him. 

“Transfer them to Elain, I want nothing from you,” she said, taking her leave. 

* * *

Dinner was awkward for a reason that had nothing to do with Nesta, surprisingly. Blame lay solely with Lord Nolan Edessa and his old codger ways. The dinner party they had invited included him, his son, and Lord Rutland, his wife, and their daughters, Tabitha and Maria. Nesta was genuinely surprised the old fart accepted the invitation, but then again he was trying to marry off that dopey son of his to Tabitha Rutland. 

Apparently  _ he _ didn’t care about the dead bastard so long as her dowry was large enough. 

Elain had wanted to have the Rutlands over for supper, the last of the “we’re sorry we made you think Feyre was available” occasions. They could be last, since, with two daughters and Feyre’s interest in men, the girls were never positioned as candidates. Thank the Wall. If Nesta had to deal with either of them as a sister-in-law she was likely to commit murder. The Edessas could wait because they never went to anything anyway, in fact, they weren’t even on the original list of makeup events. The extension of the invite to the Edessas was a favor to Tabitha. She wanted more time with Graysen, and this was perfect cover - according to Elain. 

The Edessas arrived right on time - early by society standards. A wrought iron carriage pulled up the drive, and the Archerons went out to meet it at the door. Nesta and Elain had dressed up, but not with any particular extravagance, the Rutlands were good acquaintances at this point, and what little they knew of Lord Nolan amounted to “he’ll hate you anyway.” Jewelry was simplistic, iron and copper stud earrings, a jeweled comb in Elain’s hair - a gift from Maria Rutland. 

Connor opened the door to their carriage, and a young man stepped out. Graysen Edessa, Nolan’s son. Handsome looking and strongly built, with brown hair and deep blue eyes. He looked like the watered-down version of the warrior-princes from the stories she’d read as a girl. His expression was less stern than she was expecting. He reached a hand back to support his father, the old man swatted it away and stepped rather precariously down. 

Old man Nolan was  _ exactly  _ what Nesta pictured. As tall as his son, but with none of his bulk. The wrinkles on his face cut it into an eternal scowl. His eyes matched his son in their color, but were sharper, inspecting the house, grounds, and finally his hosts. He wore an iron knights chain around his neck, and his cane, Nesta recognized, looked exactly like Feyre’s old ashwood arrow.  _ Dangerous or convenient? _

They all bowed half-heartedly to each other. Her father stepped forward. 

“Lord Edessa, welcome to our home. Please allow me to present my daughters, Nesta and Elain Archeron,” he gestured with a flourish that seemed soft compared to the hard old man.

“My son, Graysen,” Nolan gestured behind him. The young man bowed again, his eyes finding Elain and staying there a beat too long. “I see your youngest is still off with her manservant.” 

Nesta blinked. She knew the rumor had grown and morphed, as they always do, but to hear it so frankly was a shock. 

“My youngest has returned to her late-aunt’s estate by the sea for her health,” their father recovered. 

“Ha,” the old man grunted. His son at least had the manners to blush. 

“Let us go inside, there are drinks and more pleasant topics I’m sure,” Elain tried to keep her expression even, but it was clear this was a man even she would not find goodness in. 

“Yes, please,” the young Edessa said hastily, stepping forward before his father could make another rude comment. He took her arm as she led him into the house. Nesta waited for the old man. He refused the arm, choosing to openly inspect her instead. 

“Where’s your iron?” he asked.  _ Up your mother’s ass.  _

“I did not think it necessary, unless you invited fae to someone else’s home?” she responded. He was horrified at her response. 

“Failing to take the Fae-threat seriously will amount to your death, mark my words,” his words, the carriage, the chain, it was not a show. This man wasn’t performing, he genuinely feared the fae. The first man Nesta met who seemed to truly appreciate the danger they were in. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered, entering the parlor with them. 

“Please forgive my father,” the younger Edessa offered, “but I would not joke about those monsters in front of us.” 

“Apologies, my daughter’s humor has always been rather black." 

“Starvation does that to a person,” Nesta shot her father a glare.  _ Don’t help me. _

Nolan looked her up and down again, she held his gaze this time. Whatever he saw in her eyes he approved of. He threw his gaze around the room. “You’re certainly not starving anymore.”  _ Thanks to the Fae, actually.  _

“That we are not!” her father jumped in, “Thanks to our dear departed Aunt Ripliegh!” ah, the new version of the story, from Azalea, the kind stranger, to Azalea, Ripliegh’s puppet, sent to give them the aid they’d never accept directly. A “revelation” they “learned” during Feyre’s visit. Another carriage arrived, and Elain went to greet her friends while their father explained their spectacular reversal of fortune. 

“Oh not that old story again!” Tabitha complained as she walked in. “No one wants to be sad before dinner Mr. Archeron!” She bounded in in an audacious orange dress with gold and iron jewelry covering her neck, ears, wrists, and rings. Nesta had to admire how hard she was trying to flaunt her one and only draw. A sidelong glance at Graysen and his grimace was enough to tell Nesta his opinion on the match. 

“Never stopped you before,” Nesta muttered under her breath. She took a seat on the chair at the head of the room, letting her father take a corner seat. Elain ordered them all drinks, wine for the ladies, watered down whiskey for the men. 

“It is impressive, though. Hardly can tell you’ve been in residence less than a year,” Maria Rutland chimed in, not at all intending to sound so snide. 

“Yes, it is a testament to my daughters’ efforts,” their father said, raising his glass and taking a sip. 

“Oh little Elain has always had excellent taste,” Mrs. Rutland said with a smile. 

Elain turned to Nesta and started to deny the praise, when the old fuck Nolan cut in. “A waste of money, if you ask me. You’d have been better to spend it on defenses, this manor is far too exposed.”

“Father please, is now really the time to-”    
  


“It is not the time, dear son, to sit and pretend a war is not afoot!” 

“A war?” Maria asked. 

“Come now, my lord, we need not discuss these things with the women present,” Mr. Rutland tried to diffuse the situation. 

“No, better the girls find out about it when a fae arrives on their doorstep to run them through,” the old man countered. 

The Rutland girls bristled; Nesta felt herself stiffen. Nightmares of what became of her dearest, of her family. She swallowed them down. 

“Please not before supper, such gruesome discussions may be better suited for dessert.” that such a joke came from Elain startled them all, but the young Graysen smiled and looked with admiration at his new acquaintance. 

“Is there chocolate? War goes so well with chocolate,” his eyes never left Elain, who smiled back at him with a sense of comradery Nesta had never seen before. 

They passed through dinner with general politeness, though Nolan found a way to be mean. Whether he was commenting on the food being too much of a luxury, or the silverware being silver and not iron, or scotch not needing a crystal goblet where glass would suffice. But for all his complaining, he never failed to mark the sheer wealth that surrounded him, nor could he hide the greed in his voice. 

With dessert, they ventured back to the parlor, enjoying cards and ignoring Maria’s request for charades. Nolan kept his whining. Only the fact that he was technically their lord kept the party from snapping at him to kindly shut the fuck up. 

“Never had the stomach for merchants, throwing their money around on trinkets, never on serious fare, like land or men.” 

“You’ll have to forgive my father, he does not believe any spending is worthwhile unless it is to bolster our defenses against the fae.” It seemed Graysen’s only role in life was to apologize for his father. Nesta wanted to tell him not to bother. 

“I do not fault him his priorities,” her own odious father responded, “I have long been of the mind that I should do more.”

Nolan looked him up and down, searching for insincerity, and then decided to test the merchant’s resolve. “You have ships, yes? Why not put your money where your mouth is?” The group watched him. “I have need of a representative in Neva.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bitch to write because I kept getting interrupted by the need to write future scenes.... sigh. 
> 
> Also, I don't know if you can tell, but I may have watched too many jane austen films recently....
> 
> Review, comment, whatever. Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr at Saphie3243


	17. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaf-peeping, flirting, and fantasizing. The Archerons spend a day at the Edessa estate
> 
> There's some self-love in this chapter, but it's honestly less descriptive than the actual books.

Leaf-peeping, now that was just about the dumbest fucking thing Nesta had ever heard of. Even as a girl she thought it sounded dumb. As an adult she knew that it  _ was _ dumb. Go sit and watch the leaves change color. Whoo. 

Leaf-peeping at the Edessa estate sounded even worse than normal. The invite was more an excuse than anything else, an unnecessary subterfuge. Lord Nolan had invited them and the Rutlands as cover for a summit strategy session.. Graysen could escort them around the estate, play at the good suitor for Tabitha, and the men were only staying behind to “allow youth to bloom”. This way, Nolan reasoned, the fae spies would not suspect a thing. 

As though the fae were still watching them. She hadn't seen a fae since Feyre’s arrival three months ago. Azalea had not shown its face since the night after the solstice. Not that the inactivity didn't worry Nesta. It was worse, she thought. If the Archerons were no longer interesting, then Feyre was probably dead. Or at least her high lord was. 

And with the growing anxiety from all the local men, the increase in panicked meetings, the hushed discussion of fae atrocities, no one was sitting easy. What confounded them most was the  _ lack _ of attacks. For years there were periodic kidnappings, burnings, and pillagings from above the Wall. And they had only been getting more common in the last decade or so. But it seemed to all come to a crashing halt after the Beddor burning. 

The prevailing theory was that the fae were pulling back to finally launch an all out assault on the humans. 

So  _ of course  _ the fae would have their eyes on their largest threat, old Nolan and the Prince of Merchants. Nesta rolled her eyes at the very idea of these men legitimately having an impact in this war. In any war against the fae. Human and weak as they were, stood no chance in winning. She knew that, and the fae knew that, too. 

So what they hell would they care what her shit-for-brains father was going to say at the summit, or how often he was going to send reports, or how he was going to encode them? 

Whatever. Let the men gather in a tiny room and suck each other’s cocks or whatever it is men do to make themselves feel important. Make Nesta stand outside with nothing to do but stare at leaves when she should be overseeing the storage of their harvest. It is a small price to pay for her father being gone.

_ Gone _ . The thought was salve for her soul.

Neva is at least a month away. The whole trip would take at least three months, and it looked like it would take even longer. It’s too dangerous to sail in the winter months, so he should be leaving shortly, and won’t be returning until early spring at the earliest. Honestly, Nesta was torn, on one hand, he’d be leaving soon, on the other, if she kept him around for another couple months, he might not return at all! Elain always scolded Nesta for saying things like that. So she stopped saying them outloud. It did not stop her from thinking it. 

So here she was, going mother fucking leaf peeping. Getting ready to violate Edessa leaf privacy.  _ A man definitely came up with this term. _

The Edessa estate was a confusing mess of a property. It wanted to be a castle, but unfortunately was originally built as a chateau. The harsh practicality of the iron and stone walls contrasted with the elegant yellow brick of the house proper. It had windows peppering all sides, large ones, but covered as they were in iron bars, it made the house harsher, not lighter. Guards marched around the property, their repeated footfalls having long since ruined what might have once been a gorgeous lawn. Some were on duty, some seemed to just be training, but there were far too many here to allow Nesta to feel comfortable. The girls were all obviously grimacing as Graysen showed them around. 

“My father has been preparing for this war for decades, fancying himself Jurian reborn…” he said sheepishly. 

“He’s not going to fight is he?” Elain asked, genuine concern for the old man’s health. 

“No, he’s too old for that now,” Graysen assured her. 

“Does that make you our glorious hero now, Graysen?” Tabitha asked, pushing herself close to his arm. He backed away from Tabitha with a momentary grimace. But Nesta still saw the small smile, the blush of ambition that painted his face even as he denied the heroic claim. 

“No offense, Grasie, but I don’t understand why your father insisted we take in autumn here. All the forests are on the other side of the walls,” Maria complained. If he was offended at the nickname, he hid it well. A mischievous smile cut across his face. 

“Patience, milady. I promise there is a view to be had.” 

He continued to lead them around the property, and when they finally turned the corner to the back of the house, his expression became clear. 

Stunning orange and red leaves filled the entire back of the property. Row after row of trees, healthy and strong, all already turned. It was early in the season for this degree of color, far too early, but it didn’t make this site any less breathtaking. Elain was near tears at the beautiful sight, gripping Maria’s hand as the two girls began to walk closer to the simply magical site. Even Tabitha was silent, taking in the pure autumn view. Nesta knew what this grove was even before Graysen explained. 

“Ashwood trees are always the first to turn with the season. I imagine this view is more satisfactory than a natural forest at present.” 

“How many?” Nesta asked, surveying the field. 

“A couple hundred,” he answered, looking ahead at the girls who were reverently touching a tree. 

Nesta, however, couldn’t feel the awe, the wonder, that her party shared. She just looked down the grove of trees and was struck by just how long, how obsessed old man Nolan had to be. Judging by the size of the trees, some had to be decades old. The walls, the guards, the iron, all of that was simply a sign of a paranoid old man, seeing the winds of war blow through his lands. But this, this was a lifetime of dedication. The man who planted this grove wasn’t an old man that fancied himself Jurian, the hero of humanity. He fancied himself the hero as a  _ young man _ . 

“How many people claimed your father was crazy?” Nesta asked, staring at the trees. 

“Most,” Graysen answered. “People fear the fae, and hate them, but they didn’t understand how precarious a position we were in. How close we have always been to war. Father did.” 

“They know now,” Nesta responded quietly., turning and looking up at him. Graysen’s gaze was still at the girls wandering through the trees.

“They do, and I only hope it’s not too late.” 

_ I hope so, too.  _

* * *

A few servants set up their picnic blanket and snacks. The blanket protecting the girls skirts from the dirt that surrounded the trees. They spread out, enjoying the fall air, each finding an activity to entertain. Tabitha brought her harp, playing a gentle but impressive tune for the group. Maria hummed along quietly while knitting. Nesta had a sketchbook on her lap, halfheartedly drawing an ashwood tree, more just scribbling down thoughts on how many trees they could plant in next year, or if they could have the new tenants grow them as part of their leases. 

Elain had brought embroidery with her, something she was trying to improve on, but had hardly picked it up. She just kept asking question after question about the ashwood. 

“How long do they take to reach maturity?” 

“About 20 years.” 

“What type of soil do they need?” 

“Regular soil? I’d have to ask the gardener.” 

“Any pests that you have to watch for?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“It’s odd that there’s no grass. The trees seem far enough away.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think there’s ever been grass in the grove.” 

Graysen was answering her every question dutifully, and promising to ask their gardener every question he did not know the answer to, which was most of them. If he was annoyed by the constant barrage of questions, he hid it well. In fact, from Nesta’s eyes, it seemed as though he was saddened when Elain stopped pestering him with questions. When she bent down to inspect the soil, quietly examining it, he sat behind her waiting. When she didn’t speak to him for a couple minutes, he leaned forward and started asking her a question. 

“What is it you’re looking at?” 

“The soil, see how compact it is? So dry too. No worm holes, low nitrogen I think,Yet these trees are so full…” she was muttering to herself. Nesta was half-paying attention, fully trusting Elain to get any details they would need about those trees and later relay it to Darrow. But Graysen, he looked in a daze. He didn’t understand what she was saying at all, but it didn’t matter. He was content to simply listen to her voice, watch her speak. 

She let her thoughts drift, fully bored with Elain’s subject. Nesta looked up at the trees around them, and realized something rather remarkable. She felt… safe. Here, surrounded by ash trees, she felt at peace. There was clearly something off about them, how they all looked the same, how they all all turned so early in autumn, how nothing seemed to grow near any of the trees. But as she leaned back slightly against one of the trunks, she felt as though she belonged. This tree was her kin.  _ My kin? Who am I, Elain?  _

“Well I’m bored!” Tabitha announced, rousing Nesta from her thoughts. “This is boring.” she pouted in the direction of Graysen and Elain. “Let’s play a game.” 

“What did you have in mind?” Graysen asked. 

“Hide and Seek.” 

“Aren’t we a little old for that?” Maria complained, but she’d no doubt play if the group did. 

“Oh, I haven’t played that since I was a girl!” Elain sounded genuinely excited.

“I’m up for a little childish fun.” Graysen consented. 

“What about Mistress Killjoy?” Tabitha challenged.

Maybe it was the trees, or Elain’s joy, or the crisp early fall air, but Nesta sighed and said, “Why not?” 

A quick round of rock-paper-scissors decided who would be “it”, with Graysen getting the short end of the stick. He turned against a tree and began counting down from 100. Everyone else scattered. When she was a girl, Nesta loved this game. She played it with the servants’ children and Elain all the time, and she was  _ good _ at it. She would take off like a bat out of hell the minute someone started counting and climb up trees or crawl under tables. Once she covered herself in mud, scrambled up the side of the house and let herself blend into the roof. She won that round. The spanking from the governess was a small price to pay for those hours on that roof. 

But now... Nesta was older, an adult. She walked slowly, deliberately, settling behind a tree in the opposite direction of others.She was content with her hiding place. Graysen would surely go in the opposite direction, where the others were making noise. This was fine. Boring, but good enough. 

She sighed and looked at the tree, it was perfect for climbing. The child in her, one she hadn’t heard from in years, wanted to see if she could still do it. It would be a simple path up.  _ Why not?  _ She gripped a low hanging branch with her right hand and placed a foot on a tree knot, and tried to pull herself up. It took more strength than she remembered, she added her left hand as well, barely able to get her ass up. But she did get up. And since she was already off the ground, why not go higher? White-knuckling the branch, she moved her left foot to the next knot and thrust her left hand to the next branch. She added her right hand and hauled herself up higher. It was hard, harder than she remembered. She could hear the 10 year old Nesta mocking her now. 

_ C’mon! I’d be up that tree in ten seconds  _ **_with_ ** _ a book in my hands.  _

She laughed to herself and rose another foot. Why had she stopped doing this? She loved it. She loved the challenge of finding a path up. She loved sitting above the world for hours on end, reading her books, able to see everyone but no one able to see her. No one but -

“ _ Nesta _ !” 

It might have been Elain’s voice calling for her, but it was their mother’s voice she heard. Her foot slipped, her grip wasn’t as strong as it used to be. 

_ Ladies  _ **_DO NOT_ ** _ CLIMB TREES!! _

Nesta fell out of the tree, right on top of her sister, now joined with Graysen, Tabitha, and Maria. Elain tried to grab onto Nesta as she fell into her, but certainly wasn’t strong enough to truly catch a full grown woman falling from 15 ft in the air. She heard a snap as Elain’s ankle twisted under them and they fell to the ground proper. 

Elain’s screech of pain was terrifying. Nesta clambored off her, muttering apologies, and asking where the pain was. Desperate to make it ok, to take back the pain. Tears were forming in her eyes, but Elain tried to keep her wits about her.    
  
“It’s fine, it’s ok. It’s just my ankle, it’s fine.” 

Nesta immediately went to her right ankle, where it was already starting to swell. Before she could start examining it properly Graysen lifted Elain clear off the ground. 

“There’s- we’ve a doctor inside,” he explained, already starting to walk towards the house. Nesta followed along without question. The Rutlands, concerned and a little confused, followed as well after a beat. 

* * *

As soon as they made it through the backdoor, Graysen called for the doctor. One of the soldiers nodded and ran off, another offered to fetch their fathers. He brought them to a parlor and set Elain gingerly on a couch. He touched her face gently, asking if she was ok, and informing her the ankle would need to be elevated. When Elain nodded, he backed away to her feet and lifted the injured foot onto a pillow. She winced, but kept her cool about her. 

“Elain, I’m so so-” 

“Where is the patient?” the doctor called, striding into the room. Another old man, with snow-white hair and deep wrinkles, but all similarities to Nolan ended there. This man was dark and soft where Nolan was pale and hard. His skin was so dark it was startling at first, as though the night was moving, but the clear beauty of it was comforting somehow. His voice was deep but assuring. This man  _ felt  _ like a healer. 

He began examining the Elain’s ankle as Graysen explained what happened. Upon hearing the story, he turned his head to Nesta. 

“You fell from a tree?” he asked. 

“Yes, but-” 

“You fell from a tree?” her father interrupted, rushing into the room with Nolan and Mr. Rutland behind him. 

“Yes, but I’m fine,” Nesta finished, turning back to Elain with more apologies in her eyes. “Elain broke my fall.” 

“What were you doing up a tree?” Mr. Rutland asked. 

“We were playing a game, papa,” Maria answered. The Rutland girls filled in the newcomers to the events while the doctor went back to examining his patient. Nesta watched intently as he flitted about her ankle. Her father came up next to her. 

“Is she alright?” he asked the doctor. 

“She will be, it appears to just be a broken ankle. I can set it and she will need to keep off it for a few weeks. But she’s young. It will heal.” 

Three of them - Nesta, her father, and Graysen - all breathed a sigh of relief. Elain was busy telling them that it was nothing and they needn’t have been worried in the first place. It didn’t stop any of them from fussing over her the entire time the doctor was setting her ankle. It was a toss up who was most worried when Elain winced with pain during the procedure. Each of them trying to comfort her or question the doctor or even flat out stop him from hurting them more. 

“Out! All of you!” 

They were thrown back into the hall, where they continued to pace back and forth. Nolan shook his head at them, assuring them that he kept the best doctor he’d ever met, and that it was just a broken ankle, she was fine. But they kept worrying anyway, waiting for the doctor to open the door and let them back in. The Rutlands took this opportunity to take their leave, seeing no more reason to stay. Neither Graysen nor Nesta gave them much of a good-bye, each too busy worrying about the invalid. 

As soon as they were allowed back in, they ran to her, asking if she needed anything. She assured them, again, that she was fine and they needn’t worry so much. With her ankle wrapped and her wincing finally stopped, they all relaxed as well. Graysen reached her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said. Her answering blush was noted by everyone in the room. 

  
“Th-thank you,” she said. And then, without much warning she broke into uncontrollable giggles. “I’m sorry, I’m not, it’s just… your face... when Nesta came out of the tree.” Graysen held her gaze and joined her in laughter. 

“My face? I’ll never forget the look you had,” he answered. 

Suddenly everyone in the room was blushing. 

* * *

With the help of some of the soldiers, they got Elain into their carriage and were on their way home. Graysen tried to insist they stay, but when the doctor said she was safe to move, he lost any argument to keep her there. 

Back home, Connor and Darrow managed to get her down and bring her to her rooms. Mrs. Laurent immediately came in to check on her, getting her settled and fetching anything she could possibly need. With the drama of the day finally done, and Elain well taken care of, Nesta walked back to her suites. Her dress was filthy and she really needed to change. But her father accompanied her, and spoke to her just outside the door. 

“So you’re climbing trees again?” he asked. Nesta couldn’t tell what his tone was, but she didn’t really want to spend much time deciphering it. 

“I’m not,” she answered, entering her room and closing the door in his face. It took a minute, but she eventually heard his footsteps walk away. 

_

Nesta had Mrs. Laurent bring dinner to Elain’s room. It wasn’t entirely unusual for the family to eat separately or outside of the dining room when there were no guests. Given Elain’s current condition, no one was surprised for Nesta to make the request. 

They sat silently while they ate, quietly enjoying their chicken and dumplings Elain kept idly looking away, smiling to herself, and blushing. Sometimes a small giggle would break through. Giddy, the girl was giddy, and it was thoroughly untenable. 

“Cards?” Nesta asked, putting her bowl on the floor. Elain nodded and moved her empty bowl to the night stand, freeing up the dinner tray she had in her lap. . Nesta grabbed a deck of cards from Elain’s desk and dealt them a hand. She glanced up from organizing her hand. “So Graysen, huh?” 

“Is it that obvious?” Elain responded with a level of innocence that would have seemed fake to anyone who didn’t know her. She drew a card, sorting it into her hand, and discarding another. 

“Only to people with eyes.” Nesta drew her card. Oh, 3 of a kind. She placed them on a tray.

“I don’t know what it is about him, he just… I just,” her hands clutched the nightgown over her stomach. 

“Butterflies?” Nesta discarded. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. Elain picked up the card from the discard pile, arranging it into her hand. 

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” Nesta couldn’t not smile at Elain. She was in love, happily, with a man who almost definitely felt the same. 

“Tomas?” Elain cocked her head to the side, as she discarded. Nesta drew her card as she responded. 

“No, not Tomas,” there was a sadness in her tone, a darkness, Elain knew better than to press for more. Nesta never told her about how that ended. She never told anyone about it, even with Clare… Clare knew. She knew what he was and knew Nesta enough to guess the truth. “It’s your turn, by the way.” Elain gave a little oh and drew a card. “Tell me about him,” Nesta ordered, pushing the darker thoughts farther away. 

“I don’t know. When I saw him, it just clicked. I mean, he’s handsome, but it’s more than that. Something about his manners just struck me. He’s so gentle, you know? He’s so big, with all that muscle,” she turned a deeper shade of red, “You saw how easily he picked me up. But he’s still so kind. Even with a father like that, he’s still kind.” 

“So he’s pretty and kind?” 

“Well I don’t know him that well yet, but I want to.” She lifted her cards to hide her face. “I want to  _ know  _ him more.”  _ Oh? Oohhh _ . “I’ve never wanted to  _ know  _ anyone before.” 

No, she wouldn’t really have had the opportunity to meet anyone worth  _ knowing. _ Nesta could leave it at that, but what kind of sister would she be? 

“What more do you want to know? His birthday?” she asked. 

“Nesta! You know what I mean!” 

“Do I?  _ Know  _ it?” 

“Nesta!” she threw a pillow at her as Nesta snickered and batted it away. 

“I might get it if you just said Fuck like a big girl.” 

“Nestaaa!!” she dragged out the last syllable as she tossed another pillow at her sister. Nesta just laughed and drew a card. “Hey! It’s still my turn!” 

* * *

Nesta stayed with Elain for most of the evening, playing cards and chatting about the younger sister’s new love life. There really wasn’t much to tell Nesta, since she witnessed most of it. But it was obvious Elain was smitten. 

That night, as Nesta lay in bed, she considered it. He was kind enough, interested enough in her to sit through her lecture on dirt, for Wall’s sake. Nesta wasn’t terribly fond of this estate or Old Man Nolan. But who knows what was going on above the Wall now, this estate might prove useful for protection. Nolan was old. He’d probably die soon anyway. 

There had certainly been matches out there with less of a courtship, especially considering that the only factor Nolan was looking for was a large dowry. Elain certainly had that, Nesta had made sure of it. But was that a good idea? Currently, their relationship was all attraction and assumption, better to give them time to really know each other. 

Nesta stumbled on that thought.  **_Know_ ** _ as a euphemism, fuckin’ hell.  _ She let out a small laugh. 

Nesta had never been so innocent as that, thanks in large part to a raunchy novel she’d read when she was probably too young to be reading such things. Graysen certainly was the family-friendly, watered down version of the knight in that book. 

The knight in the book was tall and well muscled, but with brown eyes and longer hair. He was tanned, from being outside, and had seen real battle - not just trained, experienced. The book had taken great pains to describe his hands, his long, calloused fingers. It struck her as odd at first, none of her other romance stories bothered with the hero’s  _ hands _ . 

But then came the daring rescue, and the reprieve between conflicts, and the pledge. A staple of the genre, for the knight to kneel before his lady and pledge to fight for her always. But this knight, he didn’t just pledge with his words. He made his pledge with his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his manhood. 

A familiar tingle came her finger tips, to her stomach and between her thighs. It had been… a while. But she pictured that knight from her earliest fantasies. Running his hands over his lady’s, over her body. Kissing his way down from her neck to her collarbone, to her breasts. Murmuring his pledge into her skin, over and over. 

“I will protect this, and this. I will fight for you, my love, I will fight for every precious inch of you that I love so much.” 

Nesta’s hand traveled south, each word she recalled from a scene she read so often she committed to it memory. How the young lady shook under his hand, under his tongue. How he was gentle with her until she urged him not to be, how she reached ecstasy knowing she was entirely safe, protected, and loved in his arms. 

It was a childish fantasy. 

And a confusing one. Blending and warping constantly, flipping perspective. One moment, she was the lady getting the promise from her brave knight, another she was giving the pledge, feeling her Cl- lady quake under her. Protector and protected. So damn confusing.

But it still worked every time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things:  
> 1\. Leaf-peeping is real and sounds real dumb.  
> 2\. It's so much harder to get chapters out when I actually have to work at my job. Going to try to get two out a week, but we'll see. Also that chapter count is bullshit because I definitely keep throwing more content in here. I'm going to keep it 32 for now, but I suspect it will be more.  
> 3\. Baby Nesta liked heights.  
> 4\. They're playing gin rummy.


	18. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta tries to have a productive day after all the excitement of leaf-peeping

Nesta woke up at dawn as she always did. She looked out at the sunrise as she went through her morning stretches and made a mental to-do list for her day. When a knock rapped on her door, she called for Jenny to enter. In walked her maid, holding only a tray of tea. Odd, she normally brought a full cart with breakfast.

“Does Mrs. Cowell have another kidney stone?” 

“No, she’s fine. But your father has requested you join him for breakfast in Elain’s room.” Jenny poured her a cup, “I figured you’d like your morning tea  _ before  _ seeing him.” She flashed a knowing smile as she passed Nesta the cup. 

“Thank you.” Nesta took a sip, enjoying the strong balck tea. “I’m surprised he’s up already.”

“He might be planning on leaving today. He stopped by Connor’s room last night and asked him to have a carriage prepped this morning.”  _ Oh, did he walk in on you, too? _

Nesta finished her tea and dressed. She knew he was planning on leaving soon, but this soon? She headed over to Elain’s room and knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” Elain called. Nesta walked in to find both her father already in the room. Elain had her meal on a bed-tray. Their father was sitting in a chair next to her. He was fully dressed, complete with his heavy traveler’s cloak. 

“So you are leaving today.” 

“Nesta,” he started, but Elain cut him off. 

“Already?” she asked. 

“I was going to tell you yesterday after Nolan and I decided on it. I already have a shipment leaving for Neva at the week’s end. I can accompany it without seeming suspicious.” 

“But it’s so soon and you’ll be gone so long,” Elain complained. He reached over and cupped her face with a sad smile. 

“I know my dear. I was going to offer to bring you with me,” he looked back at Nesta, “both of you.” She scoffed but he kept going, turning back to the daughter that loved him. “But Elain, dearest, you can’t travel with that ankle.” She looked at her foot. It was wrapped in bandages and even more swollen than the day before. She knew she was bedridden for 2 weeks, at least, and nodded. 

“So this is good-bye then,” Nesta was calm, unsure if she was happy he was leaving or pissed that it was hurting Elain. He turned his head to his eldest. 

“For now, yes.” 

  
  


Elain started crying, and he went back to comforting her. Nesta stayed in the corner of the room, letting them have their goodbye. She never understood their relationship, how Elain just forgave him for everything. She wanted to yell at her sister to save her tears, that he wasn’t worth missing, but it wouldn’t make a difference. It would only serve to make Elain more upset. 

They took their time with breakfast, both of them drawing out this already excruciatingly long goodbye. Nesta wanted to leave, wanted to go about her day, wanted to be anywhere but here. But everytime she made to leave, Elain would direct a question or comment to her, and draw her back into the conversation, pinning her place. 

By 8, there was a knock at the door. Lionel’s voice came through. “My lord, you told me to get you at 8.” Their father nodded, and made his final goodbyes to his youngest daughter, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, promising to write often. He walked over to Nesta, she worried for a moment he was going to try to hug her as well, but he just asked her to accompany him to the front door. 

When they had begun their walk down to the front of the house, he spoke to her again. 

“You can come with me, you know. See Neva, the continent.” He didn’t meet her eye, just staring nervously at his hands as he played with his gloves. 

“You’re seriously suggesting I abandon Elain?” 

“I’m offering you a chance to see the world,” he did sound frustrated, actually working up the courage to face Nesta. But once he saw her expression, her punishing glare so much like her mother’s, he shrunk away again. “Elain can meet us in a few weeks,” he mumbled. 

“No, she can’t. The waters won’t be safe to sail on in a few weeks. You know that.” 

“I just, I just wanted to make the offer.”  _ An empty one. _

“You knew I wouldn’t accept it.” Coward. 

“I did,” he was quiet, keeping his head down. They made it to the open front door. Connor was waiting with a carriage, already loaded with trunks. Her father turned to face her. He paused for a minute, studying her face, looking like he was about to cry. He started to say something but stopped himself, closing his eyes for a moment before finally saying, “Take care of Elain.” 

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” Nesta turned on her heel and headed back into the house, pissed that he wasted her morning. 

* * *

Yesterday was a wash and the morning was already halfway gone. Too much to do. Not enough time. With Connor gone, Nesta had to ask an assistant stable hand to saddle her horse. They were mid harvest and had already discovered that they had grossly miscalculated how much space they would need to store wheat. She had to quickly send a request to the Hales to get a new storehouse up. It would have been cheaper to expand the current one, but they couldn’t have the already harvested wheat exposed to the elements. So a second house it was. Luckily she had stopped her father from  _ buying _ the wood, directing him to use their new mill. 

_ Next summer, we’re signing tenant farmers.  _ Let them manage their own farms on the land. Spare her this headache. 

Isaac greeted her as she trotted up. Progress was going, but slower than she’d like. Another problem with using hired hands and not residents. Hired hands didn’t care about anything other than what they were paid for. Tenants would have the same sense of urgency she had, the same need to save the harvest. They would also have families to help her nag them into working. 

“You’re going to give yourself an ulcer,” Isaac joked.

“You don’t have 10 acres of wheat with nowhere to go,” she retorted. 

“No, I don’t. But I do have a pregnant wife who likes it when I’m home at a reasonable hour.” 

“Get it done in two days and you can take a sheep. I’m sure Rebecca would prefer mutton to your presence.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“Finish in one day and you can have a lamb.” 

Nesta wasn’t particularly happy with giving up an extra sheep, but it wasn’t like they were making her much money at the moment. Bastards couldn’t be shorn until spring. Besides, the Hales were always good people, she wanted them to take up her offer of a lease next year. Maintaining good relations now was just smart business. 

After checking on the farm would be meeting with Lionel, getting an update on whatever was going on in the house and checking on the correspondence. Society invites she could send off to Elain to answer as she saw fit. But inquiries and invoices would go to her. She also needed to look over the property records today, see if there is any precedent of leasing on the property, specifically agreements she could look over and rip off. And she wanted to spend some time with Elain today, keep her from going stir crazy. 

All that came to a crashing halt when she trotted up to the stables to see a new horse tethered to its outer side. A guest had arrived. Worse - a surprise guest. Nesta dismounted and handed off the reins to a stablehand and before walking back up to the house. One of her butlers greeted her by the side door. 

“Excuse me, milady, Lord Graysen is waiting in the parlor.”  _ Great, lover boy is here.  _

“I’ll be in a minute, thank you Henry.” he bowed and went back to inform the guest. Nesta paused by a mirror to check her appearance. Her face was flush from the ride, but her hair was still securely braided up. Her dress was a little casual for guests, but at least it wasn’t muddy. It would have to do.

Graysen in the parlor, pacing back and forth behind the couch, inspecting various chachkies on the side table. He nearly dropped one when Nesta entered the room. His greeting was equally hurried and sloppy. She motioned for him to sit on the couch and took a seat in one of the chairs. 

“Hello Graysen, I didn’t know we were expecting you today.” 

“You weren’t. I was uh, going for a ride, and thought to check in on Elain,” he twisted the gloves on his hands nervously. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes. 

“She’s recovering in her room. Unfortunately not in a state to receive guests.”  _ Go home, I’m busy.  _

“Of course. It’s good that she’s recovering,” he nodded, “I heard your father was leaving today.” 

“Yes, he left this morning.” 

“Oh.” he deflated a bit. They sat in silence. Nesta was hoping he’d say something before she’d be forced to offer him tea. No such luck, unfortunately. 

“Would you like some tea?” 

“No, I’m good, thank you.”  _ Well thank fuck for that.  _

“Then is there anything else I can get you?” 

“Could you- could you tell her I stopped by?” he asked.  _ Oh for the love of -  _

“I will,” Nesta nodded. “If there’s nothing else…” she started to stand, hoping he would take the message and move. 

“Actually!” He snapped his head up. “May I borrow some parchment and ink?” 

“Of course.” Nesta rung a bell and requested writing equipment. She then proceeded to sit there in silence for 30 minutes watching Graysen write her sister a note. It took all of her self control not to poke fun at him, to remark every time paused to consider his next word. Each pen stroke was so slow, so precise. He’d look up occasionally, see her staring, blush and look back to his work. 

Finally, finally, he was done and handed her the note, asking her to give it to Elain. She agreed, taking it and walking him to the door. They made their goodbyes, but she did stop him as he walked over to his horse. 

“Graysen.” 

“Yes?” 

“Next time write the note at your own home.” 

* * *

Elain was torn between being upset at Nesta for not telling her Graysen was there so she could dress and go downstairs and being overjoyed that he wrote her a letter. She did not tell Nesta the specific contents of the letter, but she blushed happily the entire time she read it before shooing her out of the room to write her response. 

Nesta could already tell this was going to be her personal Hell. That she was going to have to moderate their entire courtship for however long it lasted. Polite blushing and stifled giggles. It was almost enough to make her wish her father had remained to deal with it. Almost. 

Nesta had just sat down at her father’s desk in the study to start looking through the mail when Henry once again came to interrupt her. 

“Miss Tabitha Rutland is waiting for you, milady.” 

_ For Fucks Sake.  _

She went back to the parlor to meet with Tabitha. 

“Tabitha, are you here to check on Elain as well?” Nesta hoped the answer was yes, that she could send Tabitha up to Elain’s room for a quick hello and excuse herself back to work.    
  


“No, I’m here to see you actually. Would you take a turn with me in the garden?” Nesta was surprised enough with the request that she actually agreed. They walked out the maze of hedges and flower beds Elain and Darrow painstakingly maintained. Tabitha took Nesta’s arm and clung to her like they were the best of friends. Nesta tried to pull away but Tabitha held firm, determined to keep up the position. 

“I’m here to warn you about the Edessas.” 

“So you’re here to get Elain to back off.”    
  


“No, well, kind of. But it’s not what you think.”  _ It’s not you defending the only respectable marriage offer coming your way? _ “Graysen didn’t want to marry long before he met Elain,” she waved her free hand in the air dismissively. “His father might not care about my past, but he never got past George.” Nesta was genuinely taken aback.    
  


“George is…” Nesta looked hesitantly to Tabitha’s belly. Tabitha nodded, her hand unconsciously covering her stomach. 

“Look, I may think you’re a stuck up bitch, and you might think I’m selfish slut, but we can both agree Elain is neither of those things. She’s a genuine sweetheart, and I don’t want to see her get hurt. And I know you don’t either.” Everything about her tone, about her opening with an acknowledgement of her family;s biggest scandal in generations, was a plea for trust. Nesta decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear the girl out. 

“Fine then, what is it you want to tell me?” 

“Everyone knows Nolan is a mean, obsessive old cunt who only cares about his faerie crusade. The kind of obsessive that would marry his son off to a frog as long the dowry was big enough. But what they don’t know is that Graysen would happily marry the frog for the cause. He might be polite about it, but he  _ is  _ his father’s son. He is as dedicated to the crusade as the elder.” 

“So he hates the fae, who doesn’t?” Tabitha sighed. 

“It’s not just that he hates the fae, he hates them enough that if it came down to it, he will marry me for my dowry, despite his misgivings about my past and hisi general dislike for my entire being. He’s a good soldier, Nesta, and he’s one on a clock. He can’t marry a girl without a dowry-” 

“Elain has a dowry, a large one.” Nesta was probably too defensive.

“But she doesn’t have access to it. Not with your father in Neva,” Tabitha countered. Nesta considered it, while Tabitha pushed on. “And even if he was willing to promise himself to Elain without the money, Nolan would disown him, and  _ that  _ would destroy Elain.” 

Nesta thought about it, by all accounts, from her interactions with both Nolan and Graysen, Tabitha was right. But it still didn’t sit right, something still felt off about Tabitha’s warning. 

“So what, I get Elain to back off and you and Nolan convince him to marry you?” 

“I don’t want to marry him anymore than he wants to marry me. Honestly, I’d prefer Elain take him, they seem to actually like each other.”

“Why not just turn him down, then? Surely there are other men who will take a large dowry regardless of your past.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve disgraced my family enough. If they formally arrange a marriage for me, I  _ will  _ accept it.”  _ Whoever it is.  _

The unspoken words hung in the air like a guillotine. Nesta didn’t begrudge Tabitha her take on the matter. Accepting a proper proposal was her only way to restore her family’s honor. It’s not that different from Nesta resolving to marry Tomas to make sure there was food on the table. When you have nothing left but a family you care about, you’ll do what it takes. Make the responsible decision. Be the lady. 

They walked back to the house in silence. There was nothing else to say on the matter. Tabitha had said her piece, and now it was up to Nesta to do what she would with it. Nesta walked Tabitha directly to her carriage, not even bothering to pretend like she’d invite her back inside. Nesta spoke again as she helped Tabitha up. 

“I still think you’re a selfish slut.”    
  


“You’d be right,” she smiled down at Nesta. “And I still think you’re a heinous bitch.” 

“I am.” 

Tabitha laughed as she pulled away. 

* * *

Nesta went back to her father's study to finally sit down and review the correspondence and daily paperwork of the estate. There were several invitations addressed to the family she sorted into the “Elain” pile, a couple of invoices she sorted into an “accounting” pile, and an offer to her father from the Koffields to discuss potential “family alliances”. Nesta threw that last piece into the “trash” pile. 

She gathered the accounting pile closer and started digging around in the desk for the ledgers. She pulled out the ledger, surprised to see it thicker than the last time she saw it. Opening the cover, she found a copy of the deed to the house and all its surrounding properties lying within along with several other documents.

A deed that was in her name. 

  
  
  


She was shaking as she paged through the documents. The house, the surrounding lands, the Beddor land, and several associated accounts were all in her name. And on her father’s business accounts, she was named the successor. It was to all go to her. All of their vast wealth was hers by right and law. 

A note was attached to the packet. 

_ To the Lady of the house.  _

Nesta closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. Her chair. She looked around at the study, not her father's study, hers. He gave her all of it. He left her everything, knowing full well he might not be welcome back to this house if he had no legal claim to it. Knowing that she would take care of it better than he could. 

Lady of the house. Her house. 

She could approve Elain’s betrothal to anyone she damn well wished, now. Nesta looked up at the ceiling, sighing. Playing her conversation with Tabitha over and over.  _ He’d happily marry that frog.  _

She couldn’t decide if the dedication made him better or worse. Elain… Elain deserved love. She’d die without it in her marriage. But love alone isn’t enough. Their father loved their mother, it didn’t stop him from letting her die. He was weak. Elain deserved someone strong, someone who was dedicated, who would do whatever it takes. 

The type of person who’d marry a frog to defend his people. 

But on the other hand, Elain needed someone that was dedicated to her, not to some crusade. Was the strength of his commitment the mark of a strong man who would protect Elain as much? Or was it a sign that she would always be second to the cause? 

_ And what about Feyre?  _

Feyre was dead, probably. If she wasn’t actually in the ground, then she was dead to them, anyway. Feyre chose her High Lord. Nesta told her never to come back. She wasn’t dumb, she knew Nesta meant it. Feyre wasn’t a factor here, not really. Though her money was. Elain would have to hide the origin of their wealth. 

Or would she? 

The broad strokes, Feyre was taken by a High Lord, they were glamored and paid off, Feyre was dead in Prythian, all of that tied them to the fae, but it didn’t necessarily make them sympathisers. They certainly didn’t see themselves as sympathizers. Nesta hated them as much as she ever did. Elain did, too. 

So it’s all a question of their love, then, wasn’t it? Does he love her enough to see that? Does she love him enough to risk being second fiddle to a crusade? Does Nesta love her enough to let her make the decision for herself? 

_ Yes, I do. Even if it means I will die here alone.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac was a carpenter, right? 
> 
> Look the US presidential debate was tonight and I needed to edit and publish a chapter just as a palate cleanser, so here you go. 
> 
> bye mr. archeron. if we find out what you goddamn name is in Silver Flames, I'll edit this fic to include it. 
> 
> We should only have one more chapter before we move into Mist and Fury Content. Which I'm super excited for because those are the chapters that I already have rough drafts for. Honestly, the hardest part about these chapters is I just want to zoom over to Cassian interactions and the Fae-re reunion. But


	19. Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain recovers from her injury and gets closer to Graysen. Nesta gives her blessing.

Elain had never been the type to sit still. 

As kids Elain was always the one insisting that they play a new game, run around outside, explore the estate, whatever as long as it was either outside or with a large group of people. Feyre was content to hold up in her room and paint. Nesta enjoyed running around as much as the next kid, but when Elain organized every kid in a mile radius to play, Nesta soon discovered she preferred to sit above them all in a tree with a book. 

Even after their governess and mother began scolding them for running around outside, it didn’t bother Elain. Running around outside and laughing simply turned into standing around outside and laughing. As long as she got to do something with other people, she was happy.

So two weeks stuck in her room, alone, was Elain’s own personal torment. She was a moody, restless ball of energy, striking out at anyone who dared to enter her room. Nesta had to threaten the jobs of the entire staff to keep them from giving in to Elain’s demands for “just a short walk”. 

After three days on bedrest, Elain had managed to commandeer 4 members of the staff for no less than 6 hours, starting with Darrow (summoned to give an update on the garden), then Victoria (sent to get Darrow), then Rachel (sent to get Victoria), then Mrs. Laurent (sent to fetch both her girls). After that, Nesta had sat down with Lionel and Laurent to work out a schedule for tending to Elain. Nesta herself spent most evenings with her sister, staying up too late playing cards or chess or simply chatting. 

Even with the constant rotation of company, she was still restless. Sitting still just didn’t fit her. The only time she seemed content where she was was when she was reading or responding to Graysen’s letters. And did that boy write letters. The two of them would trade upwards of 6 letters a day, containing goodness knows what. 

Nesta did ask her what was in them, if they were appropriate, only to get a blushing denial of anything dirty. “It’s just everyday things! You know, thoughts and jokes and stuff!” she said. Nesta rolled her eyes. Whatever Elain would or would not admit to, it was clear that she and Graysen were smitten with each other. Nesta didn’t tell Elain about the deeds, or that she was technically Lady of the house, or about Tabitha’s warning. She’d read enough romances to know that attempting to drive a couple apart would only pull them closer together. Also Elain looked happy, and it really wasn’t her place to try and dictate what or who should make her feel that way. Perhaps it was the romantic in Nesta, the one who never got to properly have a go at it with Clare, but she wanted to at least give Elain a chance.

So Nesta settled with a simple reminder that Tabitha was angling for Graysen, and say nothing more about potential pitfalls until Elain brought it up. Let the chips fall where they may. Bringing up Tabitha did seem to put a damper on Elain’s excitement, but she continued to write the letters anyway. So obviously the impact wasn’t that big. 

_ That’s my girl, get what you want. _

After two weeks, Elain was cleared to get out of bed and take short walks around the manor, as well as visits to her garden. She couldn’t keep weight on the ankle for long, and it would be another month until she was back up to full, but she would have some freedom again. 

And the first thing she did was invite people over.

Elain invited several friends over for lunch and bridge, Nesta made herself scarce. Ten people at lunch was 8 too many people in her opinion. So she found ways to avoid being around them that day. Let Elain have her fun, it was the least Nesta could do after breaking her damn ankle. No surprise Graysen was one of the invitees. 

  
  


Over the next month, Nesta allowed Elain one (1) small gathering a week, with additional daily visits from other people. It was really all she could fucking take. The weather was getting colder, and less and less work needed overseeing on the estate, giving her less excuses to not be present. One month, one month of Elain’s friends’ visits, and then she could go back to going to  _ them _ . And Nesta could enjoy her house as she liked it - mostly empty except for the servants. 

But she did find one activity that took up a good portion of her day. 

Around noon daily, Nesta would bundle up in warmer cloaks and walk to town - to the Beddor house, and back around the outskirts of her estate. Sometimes Connor, who had returned after a week, or Jenny would accompany her to town on their own errands, but she always found ways to take the majority of the walk alone. She told everyone that the walk was to check-in on their lands, but Elain and Jenny both seemed to understand she just wanted privacy. 

She never stayed long at the Beddor House. In fact, she never made it  _ to _ the Beddor house. She would get to the point where she should be able to see the house, where once upon a time a roof and worn-white walls would come into view, and she’d stop. Actually getting to the wreckage, seeing the remnants of that home was too much. So when she got there, the roaring in her ears would reach a fever pitch, and she’d turn around and head back, needing the rest of the walk to wrestle her emotions into submission.

Her father bought the land for her, left it in her name. And there was nothing Nesta wanted to do with it. She had thought that seeing it would give her an idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to get close enough. It was probably for the same reason she couldn’t bring herself to get new gowns. Any proof that Clare and her family was actually dead was too much to handle. So she didn’t. 

By the time she made it back to the house, to Elain, she was fully put back together, and any emotions she might have been showing were locked deep down. 

* * *

_ Raining. Damn.  _

The storm was coming down something fierce all morning, putting a damper on everyone’s spirits. In celebration of complete rehabilitation, Elain had invited  _ 15 people  _ over, and they were all going to go to town together, get sweet treats, buy ribbon, and come back to the house for a bonfire. Nesta had meticulously planned her day around avoiding them when she could. She’d walk with them part of the way to town as a member of the party, and then split off before they got to the city center. Nesta would then do her normal walk around the estate, spend the day catching up with the Hales (who had agreed to become tenants), and then hide in the study watching the bonfire until everyone left. 

But with the heavy rain, no one would be going on a walk today. The guests arrived in carriages, but had nowhere to go. Graysen had arrived first, surprising no one, and immediately became a sounding board to Elain’s ideas. Changing the bonfire to a fireplace fire was easy enough, but it was the rest of the activities that stumped them. Until Elain had the bright idea to change to a day-long chess tournament. 16 people would give them the perfect bracket. Only one person would have to sit out. 

Nesta took the out without hesitation and withdrew to the study immediately, not wanting to be around people. Hiding in the study was a much more appealing way to spend the day, even if she’d have to invent work to do. Redoing the accounts and writing up contracts was infinitely better than being stuck in a room with a bunch of false faced sycophants for 8 hours. 

She had tea and lunch brought to her in the study and was completing yet another profit analysis on their potential wool production when Graysen knocked on the door. She called him in. Tall, but not sure what to do with his height, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, holing a plate of the treats Elain had ordered prepped for the day. 

“Oh, I was going to bring you a snack, but it looks like you already got one,” he jerked his head in the direction of Nesta’s half-eaten lunch. 

“Yes, I had Jenny bring me food.” 

Graysen was looking around the room, taking in the shelves and shelves of books. “Wow, did you buy all these this year?” he asked. 

“No, they came with the house. The previous owner didn’t see fit to take any of them.”    
  


“Really? I can’t say I’m much of a reader, but that does seem like a waste.” 

“Neither was the previous owner, they’re mostly empty.” Graysen’s eyes got wide and he pulled out a book, only for the entire shelf of “books” to go with it. In his shock, he nearly dropped the plate of food. He gingerly set down the plate on an end table and examined the trick. The books were just cover shells, bound together and stuffed onto shelves, all for appearances. Nesta explained, “I don’t think the owner could’ve afforded this many books, anyway.”    
  


“Do you? Read much, that is?” He asked, replacing the books. Nesta watched him with a frown.

“Why are you hiding in here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Ah, I just… need a break,” he motioned in the direction of the parlor. Nesta nodded, understanding the wish to be alone, but a little uncertain about what that meant for Elain and Graysen.

“Elain likes people, events like this,” Nesta said, cocking her head to the side. 

“I know, it’s one of the things that will make her a great Lady,” he said with a small smile, though there was a twinge of apprehension in it. “And I’m glad she invited me, even if the plans changed. Though I’m beginning to suspect she planned it, she’s really kicking everyone’s ass - oh!” He covered his mouth at his swear. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Elain kicks everyone’s ass at chess,” Nesta smiled to herself. It was her uncanny ability. Elain simply didn’t lose at chess, or really any game. Even when she would play adults as a kid. It was like she knew whatever her opponent was going to do. When asked about it, she only answered that everyone has tells and patterns - you just gotta look for them. 

He smiled, “Noted,” and looked nervously around the room. “When is - uh, have you heard from your father recently?” He started playing with his hands. 

“He writes about once a week, but it takes a month to get here so responses are hard. I imagine it will only get harder now that we are approaching winter. 

“Ah,” he deflated a bit. 

“What are you going to do? When you inherit?” Nesta clasped her hands under her chin, leaning forward over the desk. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well, will you continue your father’s work or do you have your own passions?” Graysen considered the question, and her body language. He might not be one for books, but he was able to read this situation just fine. He took a seat in one of the chairs. 

“My aunt was killed by a fae while providing aide to a small outpost near the Wall when they were young. Father’s work, I know people think he is obsessed, but it is important, probably the most important work any man could do.” Graysen’s voice was steady and strong, more sure than Nesta had ever heard it. “But his methods… my father’s attitude doesn’t win him allies or support. He looks down on the softer skills, reading people, conversing with them, gaining their trust with words. He prefers action, but you can’t get the number of allies we need to fight the fae if you have to prove yourself with action to each of them. There’s just not enough time.” _ Clearly, look how old the bugger is. _ “But I am also… not skilled at it. Father was already a recluse by the time I was born, and I never got to hone it. That’s why a man like your father is so valuable, he can  _ talk  _ to people.” 

“And that’s why Elain would make you a good lady?” Nesta wasn’t in the mood for subtlety here. Not with this. Graysen straightened. 

“Elain has the skills I lack, but that’s not why I…” he took a breath in. “Elain is the most lovely woman I have ever met. She is good and beautiful, but more than that... She is like sunshine,” he was blushing deeply, stammering to express himself. Compared to how resolutely he described his mission, this was genuine. He was in love with her. 

“So the dowry and the social skills are just an added bonus then?” she asked. 

“The dowry is nice, but it’s a one time thing,” he snapped his eye’s to Nesta’s. “It’s Elain’s tact that helps more, even if my father doesn’t see it. That she has both only proves to me it was fate - To not only find my perfect wife, but to love her as well.”

Nesta sat back in her chair, wearing a smug grin.  _ Well alright then.  _

“You should say that when you propose.” 

* * *

Giving her blessing to Graysen was the worst decision Nesta ever made. Mostly because she didn’t get the chance to tell him that it was only  _ her  _ blessing he needed before Tabitha came looking for him. She debated calling on the Edessa’s again, explaining the situation, but it was clear Graysen would never propose to Tabitha, and would whisk Elain away as soon as he got the blessing he thought he needed. Not telling him meant she could have Elain for just a little while longer. 

Oh, but the waiting was painful, the apprehension worse still. Every time Elain came back from an outing, she might be bringing news of her engagement. Three months. Three months of eye twitching, heart stopping apprehension as nothing happened. Elain and Graysen continued to see one another, and continued to flirt, but nothing more than what they were already doing. It made focusing on work very hard. 

Also clear from Elain’s stories of outings was that Nolan clearly didn’t know or care where his son’s heart was. He still tried to pair off Tabitha and Graysen. Even though it was more and more clear that Tabitha wasn’t expecting an offer, and had even started politely maneuvering to allow the pair that liked each other to spend time together. 

Then one winter day, when snow was falling soft and prettily, an invite came to them, only them. A request that both Nesta and Elain join the Edessas for lunch and a winter viewing of the trees at their estate. The invite mentioned news of their father that he couldn’t put in their letters, but Nesta knew that was just for Nolan’s benefit. Graysen and Elain had truly started their romance in those trees. This was it. This had to be it. 

She made sure Elain was dressed one of her best winter gowns, lined with fur and adorned with iron buttons. She had Jenny prepare their heavy muffs and cloaks, and wore thick socks in their sturdiest boots. Graysen was undoubtedly going to propose in the ashwood grove, Elain was going to be nice and warm for it. 

But when they arrived, Graysen wasn’t smiling, he seemed sad. Nolan seemed as much a grouch as always, but there was nothing in his manner that betrayed any state of affairs other than what was explicitly in the letter. 

“It’s freezing. We’ll feed you and tell you about your father,” he ordered. Elain and Nesta tried to look to Graysen for any indication of what to expect, but he wouldn’t meet either of their gazes. 

Lunch with the Edessa’s was simple, hardy. No sooner had they been served their stew, did Nolan launch into his update. 

“You’re father will be kept away for longer than originally planned,” he explained. “It seems that he is going to stay behind in Neva and try to convince more merchants of the profitability of supplying this war.”

“How much longer will he be?” Elain asked, genuinely worried. 

“According to his letter, he doesn’t expect to be back until summer at the earliest.” 

Nesta looked to Graysen, then to Nolan. She wasn’t surprised by the delay. He always loved the continent, she wouldn’t be surprised if he chose to stay behind for the weather and business. But from the look on both of their faces, there was more to the letter than they were saying. He wasn’t staying behind just to convince more merchants. He was staying behind because the talks had gone poorly. 

They tried to ask more about it, but Nolan was being intentionally obtuse, assuring them it was just business discussions. Either he or their father didn’t trust them to know the truth.  _ Fine.  _ Lunch was short, shorter than would normally be acceptable, but Nolan had no interest in hosting them longer than he had to. Something he made abundantly clear when he tried to shoo them back to their carriage immediately after they finished eating. Graysen had to intervene, cutting his father off and insisting they go for a stroll in the ashwood grove before leaving. 

They accepted, bundling up and accompanying him out the back door to the grove. The stunningly perfect winter wonderland of a grove. The trees bore no leaves, but each branch was delicately covered in an even later of snow, with icicles dripping from branches and twigs. The light hit it and shined in all directions. With the additional snow falling around them, there were no other words to describe the sight than  _ magical.  _

Graysen led them into the grove, smiling as Elain was slack jawed, taking in the beauty around her. Even Nesta couldn’t help but appreciate the view, wanting nothing more than to spend the full day there, despite the cold. Graysen started talking, drawing Elain’s attention, but Nesta’s entire being was with the trees. She fell behind them, eventually stopping altogether to allow them and their conversation to drift off and away. She didn’t want it. She only wanted peace and silence here with the trees. 

A year since she last walked in the snow, led by a mercenary to the Wall. It had spoke to her, teased her, and tested her. It had made her feel so very weak. But these trees, with quiet calm, their gentle power, she felt strong, at peace. The turmoil of emotions she always had shoved down to her ankles- grief, anger, guilt, hatred, worry, sorrow- it was calmed. She wasn’t fighting them, she wasn’t trying to suppress them, she was just at peace. Maybe that’s why she had thought to climb one last time. Feyre’s disapproval, Clare’s anger, her mother’s voice, it was all quiet. She was just Nesta, and she was just standing in a grove of trees, absorbing their peaceful calm. 

Nesta didn’t know how long she stood there, enjoying the embrace of their gentle power when her companions returned, both looking decidedly less at peace. Elain marched up to Nesta and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the grove and towards the carriage. Graysen wasn’t looking at either of them, he just stalked off in the direction of the house. 

“What the hell happened?” Nesta asked, looking at Elain, noting the tears starting to form in her eyes. Nesta turned her hand to grasp Elain and pull her to a halt. “Elain.” 

“He- he asked me to marry him,” she said looking away. Nesta was shocked. She had expected the proposal, but this was not what she expected to see on her sister’s face while being told Graysen had finally asked. 

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that a good thing?” Elain turned back to Nesta, tears falling. 

“I refused him. Father won’t be back in time to sign over the dowry. Nolan would disown him, I couldn’t…” Her words broke off into sobs, a lace covered hand covering her mouth. Nesta pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair gently. 

“You couldn’t take him away from his father, could you?” She asked. Elain stopped crying and pulled away.

“ What? No. Nolan's awful,” she shook her head. “It’s the grove. We need the ashwood trees.” Nesta was taken aback once again. “Feyre told us to get a grove of ashwood. Even if we… cannot marry,” the words were forced, choked out of her. “We can still get saplings through trade, right?” She searched in Nesta’s eyes, determination plain on her face. “If Graysen is disowned, and I am the cause, we’ll lose the only source of ashwood we have.”

_ So stupid of me. His resolve was only half the battle.  _

Nesta held her sister to her once again, stroking the back of her head gently, breathing her scent, allowing herself one last moment as the most important person in Elain’s life. She sighed and pulled away, looking deep into her sister’s eyes. 

“Do you want to marry him?” 

“Yes, but -” 

“Then let’s go.” 

Nesta led Elain back to the house, back to the sitting room where Nolan and Graysen were waiting. Graysen was standing near the fireplace, his back to them. Nolan was sitting in an oversized chair, reading a paper.   
  
“You’re still here?” Nolan looked up from his paper, clearly past bored with presence. 

“I’d like to discuss an engagement between Graysen and Elain.” Graysen turned to Nesta at her words, his eyes red and blotchy with tears. Nolan rolled his eyes and looked back to his paper.

“I don’t have time for this. Come back with your father’s permission or don’t come back at all.”

Nesta looked down her nose at the old man. “We don’t need it. I am the owner of the estate and executor of all our accounts, including Elain’s dowry. Our father’s consent to the marriage is a symbolic blessing, but it’s my permission she needs.” 

Elain and Graysen gasped. Nolan tried to stare her down, but found an opponent that would not be so easily intimidated. 

“Very well, Lady Archeron,” he stood and swept an arm out towards the door. “Let’s discuss terms in my office.” Nesta nodded once and followed, leaving Elain and Graysen in the sitting room behind them.

* * *

Elain was flitting around the house, whistling to herself. Discussions with Nolan took almost no time, and by the time they shook on it and re-entered the sitting room, Graysen and Elain were kissing rather passionately. Nesta would have teased Elain for impropriety, but the pearl and diamond ring on her finger told her that Elain had in fact waited to be engaged first. The rest of the afternoon was spent celebrating with the Edessas - well Graysen. Lots of toasts and lots of goo-goo eyes. They didn’t get home until well after dark, both thoroughly buzzed. 

That Elain wasn’t entirely hungover like Nesta was a miracle on its own. Ten minutes downstairs with Elain was more than Nesta could take. She retreated to her room to flop onto bed and sleep off more of her hangover. It was fine. Taking the morning off was ok today. Everything was perfect. Elain was going to be married, Nesta could ban their father from the residence the day after the ceremony, and then live out her days in peace, running a successful estate. Everything was as it should be. 

Until a whooshing sound caught Nesta’s ear. She snapped her gaze out the window to see four figures  _ appearing  _ in front of her house. Nesta watched as one of them walked up and knocked on the front door. Even from this distance, with the hood and the dark companions, Nesta knew who it was. Who it had to be. 

_ Feyre’s alive. And she didn’t fucking listen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta really is up in this bitch ready to live her life as a spinster with a highly productive estate, when Feyre shows up with Cassian to destroy that possibility. I'm so excited. I cannot wait to show you guys the next chapter and the best fight of the series. Nesta v Bat Boys. Who will win? (Nesta. Nesta guys, they are not prepared for this) 
> 
> I would also like to formally state that Graysen has one (1) flaw, and it's that he hates the fae. I will not accept Elain being so heart broken if he wasn't otherwise perfect.


	20. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre has once again returned for a visit, and brought three very annoying guests with her.

Mrs. Laurent opened the door, and her reaction to Feyre was exactly what was to be expected. Well, in all honesty, Mrs. Laurent was never fond of Feyre. She fully believed almost all the rumors about why Feyre left and had not hidden her judgement of the girl. If she liked Feyre, she might not have noted the lack of carriage or footprints. But she did, and she was afraid. 

Afraid enough to turn to Nesta as she appeared on the stairs, and not Elain. Nesta nodded to her to let their sister and her companions in. No point in kicking up a fuss about this. But it was only Feyre who entered the house, walking with a grace she’d never had before. 

_ Is she... taller?  _

That Mrs. Laurent didn’t hold the door open past Feyre’s entrance told Nesta that her companions were probably glamoured. Just Feyre then, for now. She wasn’t supposed to come back. If she was successful with her lord, then she was supposed to be happy in Prythian. If she was unsuccessful, then she was supposed to be dead. 

That she was here now meant that something very bad was happening - something that would probably soon involve them. Was that roaring in her head her hangover or just existential dread?

Elain led Feyre to the parlor, saying something Nesta couldn’t hear. A boom sounded from outside of the house. She jumped, but no one else seemed to hear it, or notice. She listened for another moment, flapping. There was flapping around the house.  _ Fucking Fae.  _

Nesta followed to the parlor where Feyre was warming her hands by the fire. Longer - her fingers were longer. Paler. No calluses. Her face, too, was longer, smoother, paler. She was a ghost of who she once was. This wasn’t Feyre. This was… something else, something that looked like Feyre, but wasn’t. 

But what did everyone else see? What did it want her to see? 

Nesta took a seat on the couch next to Elain, forgoing her usual spot in the chair. If Elain noted the difference, she didn’t show it. But she did grab Nesta’s hand, and together they waited while Lionel poured them tea. Nesta shot him a silent order and he left the room. Whatever this pseudo-Feyre was going to say, it was better the staff didn’t overhear it. 

“Where is Father?” Even her voice was Feyre’s but different. Smoother, more perfect. All of this Feyre was like someone met her sister and decided to remake her without any of the interesting imperfections. 

“In Neva,” Nesta decided a diplomatic answer was in order, a partial truth. “Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world,” but then again, was she supposed to trust this Feyre? Perhaps just a bit more detail, a bit more of what Nesta would say if Feyre was really here when she was supposed to be dead. “And attending a summit about the threat above the wall. A threat I wonder if you’ve come back to warn us about.” 

Elain picked up a teacup, it shook a little bit, but that could have been due to the sobs of relief she was releasing not 10 minutes ago. _ ” _ Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—”

Feyre pulled down the hood of her cloak and everything in Nesta shut down for a moment. Pointed ears. This was fae. And from the way Elain stopped and her tea cup rattled, she saw it, too. This fae wasn’t hiding, wasn’t glamouring. 

“I was dead.” The thing that looked like Feyre said, looking them square in the eye for the first time. Those eyes that looked the same, that were not a too-perfect replica of her sister. Those were the real deal. “I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade.”  _ As a Fae. _ Nesta angled her body in front of Elain, trying to find a way to get her out of here. This was worse - worse than an imposter. This  _ was _ Feyre, remade with all of her human edges sanded off. This would be able to hurt, be able to hurt Elain. This could ruin everything. “I need you to listen.” 

Neither sister moved, unsure of what to say, how to react. Yelling “get out monster” seemed like the wrong reaction, but it was all Nesta could think of, so she said nothing and listened as Feyre explained what happened to her after she left them. 

She described going back to the Spring Court and finding it in ruins, only to learn that there was never a “blight”. There was only Amaranthra, Hybern’s best general, who had taken control of Prythian and the High Lords. Nesta felt her head spin as she remembered the histories she read as a child. Who Hybern was, what he and his generals had done to humanity, to the hero Jurian. Feyre explained that this was that general, and Nesta’s blood ran cold. This was the person who was attacking the human lands for the last 50 years. This was who had taken Clare. 

Nesta shoved down that realization. She couldn’t think about what that meant right now, she couldn’t start hyperventilating when she needed to hear how Tamlin  _ had _ made up that bullshit about the Treaty to get Feyre to fall in love with it. That it had almost worked, but Feyre wasn’t capable of saying I love you until it was too late.  _ Runs in the family. _

Feyre described going to Amaranthra’s lair Under the Mountain, and agreeing to complete trials. She befriended that other High Lord, Rhysand, making a bargain for its assistance. She traded away a week of her life every month to survive the trials. But the way she talked about it, Feyre wasn’t mad, or even put out. She was… understanding. “Rhys was doing what he could to work against Amarantha by helping me,” she explained. Nesta wanted to throw up. 

Feyre completed the trials, but didn’t survive them. As a gift for saving Prythian, the High Lords each gave her a kernel of power, and it remade her as a Fae.  _ Explains the uncanny Feyre. _ From there, Feyre seemed to have a harder time explaining her story. She went back to her High Lord, only it wasn’t happy ever after. It wanted to keep her locked in, wanted to make her a proper Lady. Feyre didn’t need to explain more than she did. Of everything she had said, this was the most like Feyre. This was their sister, the wild child, the hunter, the furthest thing from a lady. It was what let her hunt and keep them alive, it was what let her save the High Lord. 

_ Why the fuck did it want to change that about her?  _

When it failed to do so, and before Feyre was forced to turn Tamlin down at the altar (though Nesta wanted to point out that she kinda did anyway), Rhysand showed up again, calling in the bargain. He told her that Amaranthra was not the only threat, and was just the start, the beginning of Hybern’s assault.  _ Hybern is still around? _ Feyre moved to the Night Court, and agreed to help Rhysand prevent another war. 

This involved something about a cauldron Nesta didn’t really understand and a book that was in the hands of the Queens of the Realm. And that’s when Feyre finally got to the real point. She needed to meet with the Queens in neutral territory. In a place that was in human lands, but whose occupants wouldn’t attempt to kill the Fae on sight. 

Nesta was silent as she processed what Feyre didn’t quite ask, but heavily insinuated. It was Elain who confirmed the request. 

“You—you want other High Fae to come … here. And … and the Queens of the Realm.”

Feyre nodded once and Nesta gave her answer. “Find somewhere else.” It was a huge risk. It put every resident of the estate at risk. And if Graysen or Nolan found out they were allied with the Fae, if they at all caught wind of Feyre’s current species… there would be no marriage. She repeated herself as Feyre turned pleading eyes towards her. 

“Find somewhere else. I don’t want them in my house,” Nesta gave an involuntary side eye to her human sister. “Or near Elain.”

“Nesta, please. There is nowhere else; nowhere I can go without someone hunting me, crucifying me—” Nesta cut her off before she could make herself sound more pathetic. Feyre always had a knack at making her suffering sound more dire than others, only now it ran hollow. As if any human could catch her in this new fae body. 

“And what of us? When the people around here learn we’re Fae sympathizers? Are we any better than the Children of the Blessed, then? Any standing, any influence we have—gone. And Elain’s wedding—”

“Wedding,” Feyre blurted out. She finally looked at her sister’s ring finger.  _ Didn’t even bother to look at us then? Are we so far below you now?  _ Elain looked at her own ring as well, no doubt considering what this meant for her relationship with Graysen. 

“In five months,” Nesta said. “She’s marrying a lord’s son. And his father has devoted his life to hunting down your kind when they cross the wall.”  _ Your kind, not ours. Not anymore.  _ Nesta steadied herself. “So there will be no meeting here. There will be no Fae in this house.”

Feyre was obviously taken aback. She heard every slap Nesta included in her response. “Do you include me in that declaration?” She asked quietly. 

_ Did you forgive Rhysand for sentencing Clare to die? Did you come home to drag your mortal sisters into a war even  _ **_you_ ** _ couldn’t survive?  _

Nesta’s anger was beginning to boil over, white spots were forming on her vision. She was going to lose it. She was going to - 

“Nesta,” Elain said, squeezing her hand. When Nesta didn’t react Elain repeated her name, and squeezed harder, dragging her sister back to herself again. When Nesta turned to look at her, Elain gave her own answer. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them,” Elain searched in Nesta’s eyes, but it was clear she wasn’t convinced, so Elain kept going. “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home.”  _ This is their home!  _ Nesta wanted to scream, but she caged it. “And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.” Elain put her other hand on Nesta’s knee, squeezing there as well. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” 

Nesta looked at the ring Elain wore. The happy future Elain was willing to put at risk, the future that the Fae were already seeking to destroy. The future they had just yesterday negotiated into existence. Elain married to a man she loved, Nesta, here with the estate. If they did this, they could lose it all. If they didn’t do this, if the Fae were successful, they would all die anyway. 

“There is no other way,” Feyre said with a shaky voice, full of regret and guilt. She didn’t want to ask this of them. She didn’t like this plan either. This really was the last option. Nesta looked up at her sister’s eyes. Feyre’s eyes. Her own eyes. Their mother’s eyes. It was the only thing about her that was the same. The last shred of her humanity under all that foreign power. 

“We’ll send the servants away tomorrow.” 

“Today. We don’t have any time to lose. Order them to leave now.”

_ I think the fuck not. First of all that is sketchy as - _

“I’ll do it,” Elain interrupted Nesta’s train of thought. She took a deep breath and strode out of the room, calling for Lionel and Mrs. Laurent. Nesta sighed, this was going to be a right mess to clean up later. Feyre watched her leave and asked the question that she’d no doubt been thinking since learning of the engagement. 

“Is he good—the lord’s son she’s to marry?” It was such a Feyre question.  _ Do not marry Tomas Mandray. _

“She thinks he is. She loves him like he is.”

“And what do you think?” Nesta looked at the one part of Feyre she recognized. She saw the same look of adoration and respect Feyre used to give her as a child and found herself answering honestly. 

“His father built a wall of stone around their estate so high even the trees can’t reach over it,” she sighed, “I think it looks like a prison.” 

“Have you said anything to her?” 

“No. The son, Graysen, is kind enough. As smitten with Elain as she is with him. It’s the father I don’t like. He sees the money she has to offer their estate—and his crusade against the Fae. But the man is old. He’ll die soon enough.” 

“Hopefully.” Nesta wanted to laugh. So different, all three of them were so different from one another, and Feyre now even more so, but they all could agree Nolan’s funeral couldn’t come soon enough. Sisters. Despite everything else, they were sisters. A wave of love came over her, followed by a second attack of guilt for hating her for something she had no control over.

“Your High Lord … You went through all that”—she gestured to Feyre’s entire new body - “and it still did not end well?” It was the most surprising thing of the story. Feyre never hid anything about herself, how the hell did it so fundamentally misunderstand who it wanted to marry? 

“That lord built a wall to keep the Fae out,” she nodded to the door where Elain went, “My High Lord wanted to keep me caged in.” 

“Why? He let you come back here all those months ago.”

“To save me—protect me. And I think … I think what happened to him, to us, Under the Mountain broke him. The drive to protect at all costs, even my own well-being … I think he wanted to stifle it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of it.”

“And now you are at a new court.”  _ Good.  _ Some part of Nesta was proud that her little sister had left the bastard, grateful to Rhysand for offering her somewhere safe to go. Annoying, considering she had already settled into hating it forever. But whatever, she could separate Feyre’s friend from the conniving bastard in her head. Easy, since she’d never meet the Fae, just think of them as two different beings. 

“Would you like to meet them?”

_ Fucking Hell.  _

* * *

Before Nesta could say no, Elain came back into the room. 

“Nesta, what’s the code to the safe?” 

“Why do you need the code to the safe?” she asked, taking the opportunity to leave Feyre and go help with the staff. Elain’s decision to bribe the staff wasn’t the wrong one, but it was a costly one. 15 gold pieces each, 5 to cover any lodging for the next few days, and 10 to keep quiet and leave immediately. 

Most of the staff was convinced to depart with Elain’s smiles and Nesta’s order. Lionel tried to insist on staying, but a direct order from his mistress was enough to convince him to take the money and go. Jenny was happy to have a surprise break, but she was also desperate to know why. Nesta promised to tell her later, when “the new Feyre drama was settled.” Mrs. Cowell offered to prep food for the next couple of days before leaving, but otherwise seemed happy for a day off. Laurent was the only truly hard one to convince to leave. The old bat really did fancy herself Elain’s new mother or governess or something. Elain spent most of the afternoon convincing her to depart while Nesta finished up with the rest of the staff. 

**_She_ ** _ can go with Elain to the Edessas.  _

The second they got Laurent off the property, a knock came at the door. Nesta’s stomach dropped, she was going to be nauseous. Feyre suggested the dining room might be the best time to have this interaction, and Nesta wasn’t going to argue. A twelve foot oak table between Elain and the Fae was absolutely the best outcome. Nesta moved Elain to stand with her by the window. They could break it and run if needed. 

Feyre and her guests were making small talk as they entered the room. Feyre was first, leading them. Then came a tall, disturbingly handsome, well-dressed, and ridiculously powerful human-looking fae. Its skin might have been sun-kissed, but it was night that rolled off of it in waves. Standing by the window would do nothing. This fae could kill them with a thought, they wouldn’t even be able to think about running before they’d be dead. 

Then came a fae kissed by a different sort of darkness. It, too, was shaped like a handsome human man, but it wasn’t the too-perfect beauty of the first faw, or of Feyre. She would have thought it human if not for the massive wings and the Shadows swirling around its ankles and wrists. Where the first fae was dressed in formal attire, this one was dressed head to toe in leather armor. Nesta immediately noted the knife on its belt. Odd. She’d never seen a fae use a weapon before. 

A third and final fae entered the room, dressed similarly to the second, also possessing wings. The tallest of the three, and the bulkiest. And by far the most dangerous. This one looked… normal. He was handsome, yes, but he was not outrageously so. His nose had been broken, probably several times. His hair was chin-length, half tied up behind his head. She noted two red gems embedded in his vambraces, gleaming with slight power. But other than that, there was no power coming from him, he didn’t feel alien. Even with the wings, she could almost mistake him for a human.  _ Dangerous. _

The three fae took up a stance behind Feyre, all clearly stating with their body language that they were here for her, would defend her. Nesta took a step in front of Elain, letting them know that she, too, would fight for her sister, that she would not be intimidated, no matter how scared she clearly was. 

Feyre introduced them in reverse order of their entrance. The first one was, in fact, Rhysand - the High Lord of the Night Court. Azriel was the middle one, and Cassian was the last one. And he was staring at her with such a smug look of superiority that Nesta momentarily forgot her fear for want of launching a fork at his head. 

The only thing that stopped her was the High Lord of the Night bowing to her and Elain. It smiled at them, trying to be polite, but it was hard to be endearing when you’re that lethal. And when one half of the audience knows you’re directly responsible for the Beddor massacre. Nesta wanted this whole affair done with as soon as fucking possible. 

She summoned the part of her that managed to be mostly civil talking to a clump of vines and turned to Feyre, “The cook left dinner on the table. We should eat before it goes cold.”

Nesta took her usual seat at the head of her table. Elain squeaked out a greeting before taking her seat to Nesta’s left. The rest of the party took seats down the table, with Feyre to Nesta’s right, the high lord next to her, Azriel next to the lord. Cassian looked right at Nesta as he sat next to Elain, as if he was daring her to complain about his choice of seats. His smug dare was soon defeated not by Nesta’s brewing retort, but by the sheer absurdity of watching him attempt to sit in a chair with his ridiculous wings. 

Pleased with her free little victory, Nesta served herself some food. Nothing too heavy as she was liable to throw up any minute now, but something to fill the cavern opening in her stomach. She watched as the intruders took turns serving themselves as well. The men ate the food with no complaints or trouble, but Feyre… It was worse than the last time. She was barely able to take a bite without gagging. Nesta waited for Feyre to catch her staring. 

“Is there something wrong with our food?” 

Feyre forced down another bite, struggling and grimacing her way through it.  _ You’d think someone forced her to eat shit.  _

“No,” she lied. 

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?”  _ Weren’t you the one who told us to be happy with hot water instead of tea? That any food was good food so long as it kept you alive?  _ The High Lord dropped its fork on its plate. Nesta’s dig might have been meant for Feyre, but it was getting a rise out of Rhysand.  _ Interesting.  _

“I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” Feyre’s response surprised everyone but Nesta, who could only laugh, low and wicked. Feral Feyre was still in there somewhere, easily baited into bickering by a single insult.  _ Good, I’d hate to lose you entirely.  _ Nesta was ready to respond, to see more of her little sister’s hot temper and revel in their familiar game when she was rudely interrupted.

“If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why our food tastes so different,” the polite, murderous bastard butted in where it didn’t belong - defending Feyre when she didn’t need defending.  _ This doesn’t concern you, asshole.  _

“I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.” Nesta let every word drip condescension and even threw in a little smile to make sure it was properly offended. 

“Nesta, please” Elain asked, taking the tone she used whenever Nesta’s patience with her guests would wear too thin. Usually Nesta would just leave at that tone, but not tonight. These assholes had inserted themselves into their lives, used Feyre to beg for the favor, and then this mother fucker had the nerve to try and butt in between Feyre and Nesta. As though Feyre needed protecting from Nesta, as though this wasn’t the game they played. 

Nesta would have continued to stare down Rhysand, daring it to say something else but she felt another gaze from beside Elain. She turned to see Cassian staring her with that smug little grin again. 

“What are you looking at?” His grin dropped and his eyes hardened as he launched onto the offensive, attempting to scold Nesta for her behavior. 

“Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.” 

Nesta looked him up and down. He had managed to pinpoint her every insecurity when it came to Feyre. But there was nothing that he said that she hadn’t thought meaner to herself in the last ten minutes alone.  _ Nice try, but this isn’t your fight.  _ She didn’t bother to respond, turning back to Feyre, waiting to see what the person with actual beef had to say about the matter. 

That must have pissed him off, because Elain immediately launched into diffusing the situation. “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it. We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered …” And managed to stumble into the one topic that was guaranteed to escalate Nesta’s rage. 

She watched as the high lord cowered into his plate at her name _.  _ She didn’t need to ask after Clare’s state to know the truth. From Feyre’s expression to its reaction, she knew enough. Clare died. Horribly.  _ Murderer.  _ Elain kept speaking, kept apologizing for them, for their behavior, as if they had any reason to apologize to these things. To Clare’s murderer and its friends.  _ But they are helping Feyre. Look at it, it loves her. Doesn’t she deserve that as much as Elain? But why this one? Why did Clare have to die for it?  _

“Can’t we just… start over?” Feyre asked. 

Anger, guilt, outrage, grief, horror, love, and vicious pride all took turns rolling through her veins. She watched her sister, watched her hopeful anticipation.  _ From where Feyre?  _ From the start of dinner? From before Clare disappeared? From before the years in the cottage? Before their mother died?  _ Absolutely not.  _ She wanted to rage, to scream and claw at her sister and her new high lord. Make them understand that you can’t just ignore the past and move on. To demand where they got off asking anything of humanity after all the millennia of shit they put humans through. Asking anything of them after Clare. 

But one glance at that fucking fae male, Cassian, at that bastard’s cocky smile stalled her. He looked eager, like he was expecting her outburst, hoping for it even. He wanted her to throw a temper tantrum like the petulant child he already believed she was, just to win the game he started. Under no circumstances would she let that happen.

“Fine.” Nesta shoved food in her mouth before something more emotional came out. She felt the eyes of that fae, of Cassian, on her the entire time. At first she thought he was merely disappointed in his loss, but no, he hadn’t lost. He might not have the ability to read minds like his lord, but he saw her emotions clear as day, saw the explosion coming and wore that sneer purposefully to diffuse her. 

_ Dangerous.  _

Elain tried once more to make small talk with the intruders, noting their ridiculous bat wings. “Can you truly fly?”    
  


The quiet one, Azriel, set down its fork and answered, gracing them with its voice for the first time that night. “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” Nesta decided that jealousy did not, in fact, pass through her mind. Absolutely not. 

“That’s very beautiful. Is it not frightening, though? To fly so high?” Ah, Elain and her fear of heights. That fear is what made trees and roofs such fantastic hiding spots, she’d never climb up. 

“It is sometimes,” Nesta couldn’t help but pay attention to this explanation. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we are out of swaddling.” Nesta considered the explanation, and its previous answers. 

“You look like High Fae, but you are not?” she asked, hoping the quiet one would answer. Unfortunately, Cassian did. 

“Only the High Fae who look like them are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call ‘lesser’ faeries.” Nesta was surprised to hear dissatisfaction in his voice as he referred to Feyre and Rhys. 

“It’s become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing,” Rhysand explained. 

“Rightly so.” This was a clear thorn for Cassian. It was too easy, Nesta chose to let that topic slide for now and considered Feyre for a minute. 

“But you were not High Fae—not to begin. So what do they call you?”  _ Do they have an offensive term for human-turned-fae, too?  _

“Feyre is whoever she chooses to be.” 

Nesta felt her very soul roll its eyes at Rhysand’s useless goddamn response. Even if she didn’t already resolve to hate the lord, Nesta decided that it was absolutely not a being she could enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Rhysand, I really do. Nesta, however, does not. 
> 
> Cannot wait for Nesta to learn the term emotional abuse and just become the surprise pikachu. 
> 
> While I still stand behind the narrative choice for Nesta to not think of the Fae as people in her head, it's still very annoying to write and I really hope the pay-off I have planned works. Any way, we have some fun scenes planned for the next chapter when the bat boys stay at the house and I don't have to follow a script.


	21. Bats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta spends some time with Feyre's new court.

The fae requested side by side rooms with two beds each. Not an unreasonable request, except they had sent the staff away and neither sister felt like they’d be capable of moving the beds around. Nor did they think they could properly explain it when the staff returned. 

_ Whatever, Feyre and the High Lord are probably sleeping together anyway.  _

Nesta gave them directions to Feyre’s room and the kid’s room next to it. They could figure out who was sharing and who was sleeping in a child’s bed all on their own. Nesta really hoped Cassian and his shit-eating grin got the tiny bed.

Nesta and Elain gathered up the empty plates and walked them into the kitchen, setting them on the table before grabbing a couple of aprons. They were tying them on as they reentered the dining room to gather the leftovers. One look at the table, still full of way too much food and Nesta regretted not grabbing the cart as well. 

“Do you have letter writing supplies we may use?” Azriel asked. Elain piped up an answer immediately. 

“Yes! They would be… in the study, I think?” she cocked her head to the side, trying to remember the last time she fetched supplies for herself while downstairs. 

“There’s some in Lionel’s office,” Nesta hefted up the trays and jerked her head towards the kitchen. “Follow me.” Azriel nodded and grabbed the two heaviest platters before following her.  _ At least this one has manners _ . She set down her trays on the large prep table and gestured for it to do the same. “You can set them down here.”

Nesta started pulling out the wooden bowls and containers from the shelves by the backdoor, and called over her shoulder. “You passed the office on the way in the kitchen, second desk drawer.” To Elain she said, “Start moving the food into the wooden containers.” Both followed her orders and started working on their various tasks while Nesta started heating water for the dishes.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing?” Azriel reappeared with the supplies. Elain happily answered. 

“Nesta has all of our leftovers sent to the orphanage!” It wasn’t an everyday thing, but whenever the cook suspected there would be guests, she always made way too much. Part of the appearances of the Archeron’s was wasteful wealth, but they had spent too many days starving to let any of it go to waste. 

If Azriel was surprised, it didn’t show. The fae just nodded and offered, “If you would like help delivering them, since your servants are away, I’d be happy too.” 

“It’s cold enough that it’ll keep until the staff returns,” Nesta finished transferring the fish to a lipped wooden platter with an accompanying lid. “Thank you though.” He nodded to her and left. 

Elian was transferring the potatoes into a wooden bowl, trying to scrape out every last piece. “They aren’t what I imagined,” she commented. 

“What did you imagine?” The kettle of water began to whistle, Nesta walked over and poured some in a bin with soap. 

“More like the Beast. Less… human, less mannered.” Elain dropped the chicken pieces in with the potatoes and covered them both. “It’s almost more terrifying.” 

“Get the baskets - top shelf. I’m going to start scrubbing. Why?” Elain grabbed the baskets down and moved the containers into them as she explained. 

“It’s like… they are almost human, almost like us, but not. I mean, look at Feyre. She’s Feyre, our sister, but everything is just…” 

“Uncanny” 

Elain nodded. “Exactly. And even though I know in my head we can trust them, that they want to help, I still… I can’t shake the feeling that I should be afraid.” 

She was right to be afraid. These  _ guests _ could kill them with almost no effort, glamor everyone around the house to think it was an accident, or that they had run away, and nothing could stop them. Hell, they could set the house on fire and leave bodies and even throw in a gilded note taking responsibility for the deaths and there was still nothing the humans could do. 

And maybe it was that realization that was the most unsettling.

There would be no sleeping tonight. She finished cleaning up dinner and bid goodnight to Feyre. She and the fae were still trying to compose the letter to the queens and barely acknowledged her leaving. Nesta didn’t even bother going to her room, she just went right to the study to distract herself with accounting. 300 gold was a pretty penny to spend at the drop of a hat, she’d need to cut back some for the next few months. It would be tricky, though. Wedding planning and saving did not go hand in hand, she’d have to outline a solid budget for that event as well. Elain definitely was going to want the best of everything. 

She sat back with her scotch, taking a sip and debating if she could live without meat or sugar for the next month. 

“The night court would be willing to reimburse you, if needed,” a night-smooth voice spoke from by the door. She snapped her gaze up, she hadn’t heard Rhysand enter, but there it stood, leaning against the closed door to her study. 

“We’ve had enough trouble covering up the origin of fae gold,” she took another sip, watching it. “Are our beds as distasteful as our food?” 

“I provided my own bed, actually. The room only had one.”    
  


“And here I was doing you a favor,” Nesta leaned forward. 

“I don’t want favors from you,” it practically spat at her. Anger. It was angry at her - on Feyre’s behalf, no doubt. Nesta laughed, something cold and bitter. 

“Your plan jeopardizes both our safety and Elain’s future,” Nesta finished her drink and wiped her mouth. “You’re already asking a lot from us.”    
  


“If hatred for the Fae runs that deep, is it really a good future?” Rhysand walked a step closer, just a step. 

“It’s not unjustified. You hate me for being neglectful to my sister, can we not hate your kind for enslaving, murdering, raping, and torturing us for millennia?” 

“We fought in the war to end that, you know,” he answered. 

“Ended it? Really?” The scotch must have gotten to her head. “Then Feyre wasn’t bound to you against her will? And Clare is just fine- living it up in Prythian, is she?” She felt her voice rise, becoming overfilled with equal parts venom and grief. She wanted her words to hurt, to see this ridiculously overpowered lord cower in shame again. But mostly she wanted to bait it into admitting what it did to Clare, even if it destroyed herself in the process. 

It worked. Rhysand’s entire being deflated, its head dropping. “I did what I could for Clare,” it said simply, sadly. Slowly, it walked over to a couch and put its head in its hands. After a moment, it spoke again. 

“I saw you,” it said gently, “in her mind.” Nesta went still. “When it got… when she needed to be somewhere else for a while, the only place she wanted to go was here.” Rhys looked around the room, taking in the real life details he remembered from Clare’s mind. “She wanted to go back to the solstice party. She wanted to relive that day, right up until-” 

“The dancing,” Nesta finished for him, looking away. 

“No, until she said no.” Nesta’s eyes snapped back to him. “She didn’t regret saying no then, didn’t think she was wrong to, but she… she wanted to die your wife.”

Everything in Nesta collapsed. But Rhys kept going. 

“It’s a very odd thing, to see someone through another’s eyes. In Clare’s memories, you are this strong, perfect queen, a poised force of nature, full of laughter and joy. But then I see Feyre’s memories, you are nothing like that at all. Cold, mean, lazy, selfish, spiteful, and it’s almost worse. It’s not that you weren’t capable of being a better person, it’s that you couldn’t do it for your own sister.” His tone had turned bitter once again, his spine had regrown, and whether he knew it or not, his power had flared, filling the room with the blackest night. 

_ He really fucking loves her.  _

There was no doubt about it. Thinking Nesta was kind of a shitty person was par for the course for most people, and something Nesta was used to. But to hate her so, to feel this strongly, he had to love Feyre. But love or no, mind-reading or no, he was an outsider, an interloper, and Nesta had no patience for his unwarranted opinion or his show of power. He could try and intimidate her all he wanted, but they both knew his hands and power were bound by love for Feyre. In this fight, they were equals. 

“Did you give Feyre your power because you wanted her to live or because you didn’t want her to die for someone else?” Nesta shot the words at him as though it was one of Feyre’s ashwood arrows. She notched another before he had the chance to respond. “When she went back with him, was it harder knowing she was fucking him or knowing he didn’t deserve her?” Another. “Is that why you waited until her wedding day to bail her out? Or did you want to punish her a bit for ever going back to him?” Rhys was, frankly, horrified at Nesta, and the words that came out of her mouth. She didn’t know him enough to know if the words actually hurt or if it was just horror at the accusation, but it didn’t matter. “I don’t care what do claimed to do for Clare, you killed her. You let my sister die for your kind, robbed her of her humanity. Then - then left her alone with that bastard for  _ months _ . You did that. As an adult, as a full grown king.  _ You _ do not get to march into my home, corner me in my study, and throw in my face that I was cruel or incompetent as a  _ child _ .” Nesta was standing by the end of her speech, and Rhysand looked like she actually had shot him. “Now get the hell out.” 

He disappeared into his own darkness, leaving Nesta alone once more. When she was sure he was gone, she sat back down, picked up her quill and went back to setting a budget for Elain’s wedding. 

__

Madame Cartright had Nesta and Jeremy by the backs of the neck as she marched them up to the table where Lady Archeron was having tea with her friends. 

“My Lady,” she said, bowing her head slightly. The young and impossibly beautiful mother turned and looked over the state of the children. Nesta’s hair had been pulled out of its braid, her dress was covered in dirt and ripped along the sleeves and hem. Jeremy was next to her, equally disheveled, but also sporting a back eye. His mother, one of Lady Archeron’s friends, floated over to him, scooping him up into a hug and looking over his injuries. Nesta’s mother simply arched a brow. 

“What happened?” 

“Nesta hit me!” Jeremy complained, pointing at Nesta. 

“Only cause you asked for it!” Nesta yelled back, crossing her arms. 

“Liar!” 

“Am not! You said Morrigan wasn’t real-” SMACK! 

Nesta was cut off by the sound of her mother’s hand colliding with her cheek. Before she could register the pain of it, the same hand grasped her jaw, forcing Nesta to look up at her mother. Her mother’s face was hard and cold, terrifying to little Nesta.

“Are you a wild animal?” She asked.

“N-no.” Nesta mumbled. Lady Archeron shook her child’s head in her grasp. 

“Louder, Nesta.”    
  


“No,” Nesta answered. 

“Then why are you bleating like one?” Nesta looked to the floor and her mother shook her jaw harder. Nesta looked back up. “What are you?” Nesta knew what the answer was. 

“A Lady.” 

“Exactly, and Ladies do not rough house. Nor do they ruin their dress” she let go of Nesta jaw, flicking it away from her. “And what do Ladies say when they misbehave?” 

“I’m sorry,” Nesta looked back at the floor, feeling tears well in her eyes. 

“Very good. Now go get changed and fix your hair. Ladies never look less than their best.”

Madame Cartright took Nesta by the shoulders and led her back to her rooms to change, giving the only order she ever gave in situations like this. “Dry your tears child, you’ll ruin your face.” 

__

  
Nesta woke with a start. An old dream and an older memory. She wasn’t sure what triggered it, but it was never a good sign when she dreamt about her mother’s lessons. She was still in the study, hunched over the desk. Her neck and head pounded, and from the ink smudges on the open ledger under her, she probably looked as bad as she felt. A glance to the window told her it was near dawn. 

She stretched a bit, trying to work the concrete out of her spine as she left the study. If she was lucky, the fae would still be in bed, and she could sneak to her bathing chambers and wash up before anyone saw her. 

“Sweet Mother you look like Hell,” Cassian was leaning against the stairs.  _ Of course, just my luck.  _ She tried to ignore him and walk around, and he did let her pass, but certainly didn’t let her ignore him. “What, long night?”    
  


“Not all of us are nocturnal.” 

“We aren’t either?” he scrunched his face in confusion. Ah, she was too tired for this. 

“No echolocation either, I’m guessing?” she asked with a yawn, reaching her door. She had it closed and locked behind her when she heard Cassian finally piece it together. 

“Are you calling me a bat?” 

After spending a half hour washing down her face and changing into an ice-blue gown, Nesta rebraided her hair and pinned it back into its usual tight bun. She put on simple matching pearl earrings and a necklace. Elegant and understated like her mother had taught her.  _ Ladies do not show off. _

Dawn had fully broken when she opened the door again, finding Cassian leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. He made a point of looking her over. 

"I don't know, I think I like the ink better." 

Could she just real quick jab out his eyes? Would that be ok? No one would complain, right?  _ Ladies do not fight with fists. _ Fine. 

"Aren't bats supposed to be blind?" she turned and started walking back down the stairs. She was absolutely not in a mood or state of mind to deal with this one and his fake flirting. Losing control would be too easy. Time to change the subject. “When are you leaving?” 

Cassian clicked his tongue. “You’re not even going to offer us breakfast?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” she could wait on breakfast until after they left. Or skip it entirely. But another meal meant a longer stay, and she really just wanted her house back. 

They got to the foyer in time to hear the front door click. Looking out the window, she could see Rhysand and Feyre walking off to the grounds. The other Illyrian was also up and about already, watching them leave. 

“Where are they going?”  _ And why aren’t you all going with them?  _

“Pre-breakfast training,” Cassian smiled, “Feyre’s helping Rhys hunt.”  _ Rutting hell, how long were they planning on staying?  _

“They should be careful, we sent the staff away, but there are still some farm hands that tend to the animals.” 

“Rhys is aware, he’ll keep them away from humans,” Azriel answered. Nesta nodded and headed off to the kitchen. If these bastards weren’t going to be leaving any time soon, she was going to need hot, strong tea. She went out the back to fetch water from the well. The snow dampened her thin house shoes, freezing her toes. The wind stabbed her fingers as pulled on the rope.  _ Damn I’ve gone soft. _

Walking back into the kitchen was somewhat of a relief, but not much. It was dry, but without the usual fires burning in the ovens, it was almost as cold as outside. The stone floors were just cold and hard as opposed to cold and wet. She quickly set about boiling the water and assembling the tea set. She also stopped in Lionel’s office to gather the mail she’d ignored the day before. 

As soon as the water was ready, she filled the teapot and rushed from the kitchen. She walked into the parlor, surprised to find it delightfully warm. Azriel and Cassian were standing next to a roaring fireplace, each warming their hands. Cassian called over his shoulder to her as she entered. 

“I hope you don’t mind, we started a fire.” she couldn’t tell if the lack of bite in his words was because there was none or if she was just relieved to be somewhere warm. 

“Not at all,” she set the tray down on the coffee table and poured herself a cup of tea and picked up the mail before taking her usual seat at the head of the room. She kicked off her wet shoes and tucked her feet under her thighs, taking a simply delectable sip of her tea. The others looked to each other, the tray of tea, and back to Nesta. 

“There’s only one cup,” Cassian commented. 

“Elain won’t be up for a little while yet, and she knows where the cups are.” Nesta took another sip, savoring the warmth, watching them, seeing what they would do. Cassian looked back at the teapot and grinned.

“So you’re sister’s not much of a morning person, then?” Cassian picked up the entire teapot and sat sideways on the couch closest to Nesta, letting his wings spread down its length. He took off the lid and started drinking right from the pot. He was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. She glared at him for a moment and decided to not give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her and continue with the strategy of mostly ignoring them. 

“She doesn’t need to wake up this early, so why bother?” Nesta took another sip of her tea and opened a letter. The High Lord reentered the house and joined them in the room. Rhysand avoided eye contact with Nesta after last night’s conversation, hiding in the corner of the room. He did note Cassian sitting so close to her, and the teapot, but simply shared a look with Azriel and shook his head. 

“Must be nice to have such care-free existence,” Cassian’s musings were undoubtedly a trap, but she let him have it. 

“Mmhmm,” she glanced over the letter, just a congratulations for Elain’s engagement. So the Edessa’s already got the news out. Or the staff did. A formal announcement would have to go out today. 

“To live in a huge house you didn’t pay for.” 

“Mmm” she kept reading. 

“I wonder if Feyre would have liked it here.” 

“Mmhmm,” she opened another letter. 

“Though I think she’d get bored of picnics and tea parties.” 

“Mmm”  _ Oh, Rebecca had her baby. _ A visit was definitely warranted then, Elain would probably want to go, too. She’d need to bring a gift. Maybe they could pick something up while they were in town mailing the letters.

She heard Azriel stifle a laugh.  _ Glad someone is enjoying this. _ She had work to do, and babysitting these damn bats wasn’t going to keep her from it. 

Nesta set down Isaac’s letter and picked up a new one. Cassian snatched the letter and started glancing over it. “What’s so fascinating that you are ignoring your guests?” Nesta shot a hand out and tried to snatch the letter back, but Cassian whipped it behind his head, out of reach. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to mind your own damn business?” she snapped. 

“Didn’t yours teach you how to treat your guests?” he retorted. She huffed and stuck out her hand.

“That letter is private.” 

“Cassian,” Azriel scolded. He growled and handed back the letter. Nesta straightened it and placed it back in the open pile. She went to open the other letter when Cassian spoke again. 

“So do you have any  _ real  _ books or do you only read letters?” Nesta didn’t want to give into his prodding. He was just bored and looking for a toy, obviously. But he had said something she couldn’t ignore. Nesta put all the letters down on the side table next to her and looked at him properly. 

“When, exactly, did you go into  _ my study _ ?” 

“While you were fixing breakfast,” he smiled. “I wanted to find something to do while I’m waiting. Imagine my disappointment when I pull out a book and the shelf comes with it. Did you buy them for decoration or just to trick guests?” 

“Well they tricked you, but I’m not sure I’d qualify you as a guest,” she smiled back, leaning towards him.

“What would you qualify me as?” he purred, leaning in as well.  _ A dangerous pain in my ass.  _

“An annoyance,” she said with all sweetness. Whatever he was going to say next got cut off by something. The three fae all whipped their heads to the window. Rhysand disappeared into darkness as the pen he was holding clanked on the floor. Azriel nodded to Cassian and blinked out of existence. Cassian stalked across the room with an elegant and lethal grace. He stood at the door, his right hand resting on the back of his neck, ready to grab the sword he kept strapped to his spine. 

Nesta walked up behind him, but he stretched out his left hand, silently telling her to stay back. Nesta nodded, despite knowing he couldn’t see it and stepped back a little. 

“Is Feyre-” 

“Rhys and Az went to her, she’ll be fine,” he answered. This tone, this posture, it wasn’t the teasing, flirting ass she’s spent the last 12 hours trading veiled insults with. This was a warrior, a knight, all business- fulfilling the duty he’d been assigned. 

“Elain’s upstairs alone.” 

Cassian glanced back over his shoulder. Marking the worry on her face. He nodded and started to move forward. Nesta followed behind, careful to not lose a single step. Their pace faltered when incoherent shouts filled the air, but they kept moving. When they got to the stairs, Elain was already on the top landing. Her eyes were wide with fear. 

They beckoned her to come downstairs and Cassian led both girls back to the parlor. Nesta held Elain’s hand on the couch, while the fae stood guard over them both. Each moment felt like an eternity, and as much as Nesta wanted to demand answers, she knew this was not the time to interrupt his focus. 

After another moment, Cassian relaxed, turning back to the sisters. “Danger’s over - they’re just flirting now.” 

Elain let out a sigh of relief, but Nesta just downshifted from apprehension to indignation. Cassian walked over to the door and Nesta got on her feet, following him. 

“What danger did you all bring to our house?” 

“How would I know? I was in here with you,” he had fully retreated into his mocking tone, grinning at her again as he opened the front door and stepped outside. 

Nesta’s temper flared as she followed him onto the stoop. “Don’t play stupid, you know what was out there.” 

“With my echolocation?” he smiled. Nesta huffed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried talking to him before her tea. “Ok, say please, and I’ll tell you.” 

“How about you tell me and I don’t kick you off my property?” 

“Ooh, not a good deal, sweetheart, I’m already leaving,” he said, gesturing to the flash of black that was Feyre and Rhysand returning. “Maybe next time you’ll treat your guests properly and get what you want.” Cassian bowed to her, not as a sign of respect, but as an actor, pleased with their own performance. Nesta returned the gesture with a vulgar one of her own. 

  
He only laughed darkly and looked her up and down one last time. His arrogant smile mixed with the electric look in his eyes and Nesta could hear his unspoken “ _ Watch this.”  _ He launched himself into the air with a boom that echoed through the estate. Nesta indeed watched him go, trying to decide if she was more relieved that he had left, or angry that he got the last laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g 
> 
> I should really add a slowburn tag because right now their flirting consists of pulling on each other's hair and it took 20 chapters to even introduce the love interest. 
> 
> Azriel is the only one Nesta likes because he knows how to fucking behave himself. (To be fair, Rhys knows how too, he's just angry on Feyre's behalf and choosing not to)


	22. Progressive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta returns to normal life after the visit from her sister and the new court.

Nesta stood barefoot in the snow for longer than was appropriate. She probably would have stayed out there even longer, but the painful icing of her toes pulled her out of her head. She shook off the fog and walked inside, trying to clear away the thoughts of Cassian and the retorts she wished she’d lodged at him. 

Nesta closed the door behind her and saw both Feyre and Rhysand staring at her. 

Before she could demand to know what happened outside, or for them to hand over the letter and leave, Elain piped up.

“Breakfast?” 

“Please,” Feyre responded, clutching her gurgling belly. Elain led them back to the dining room, leaving Nesta without an opportunity to object. Fine. She wanted to know what the hell happened anyway. 

“It was the Attor,” Feyre explained as she took a bite of scone. Mrs. Cowell had left them an assortment of scones, muffins, and biscuits as well as various jams and spreads for breakfast. 

“The thing that kidnapped you-”    
  


“Under the Mountain, yes.” Feyre’s tone was short and dark. She cast a sidelong glance at Rhysand, “Apparently it’s been looking for me.” Nesta knew that tone, that was the tone Feyre used when she was trying to imply they weren’t pulling their full weight but didn’t want to say it. So he didn’t tell her about the hunting then. 

“That’s awful!” Elain exclaimed, leaning her cheek into her hand. 

“It’s settled now though, Azriel and Cassian have taken it into custody,” Rhysand looked to Feyre as he said it, then to Nesta, whose deadpan glare spoke volumes. She really hoped he was looking into her mind at the moment to hear the strings of profanity she was too much of a lady to say out loud. 

_ But you’re not too much of a lady to flip off Cassian?  _

Nesta dismissed the thought. She would consider that problem, along with Cassian’s uncanny ability to get under her skin, exactly never. It had just been awhile since she was around someone who wasn’t too tied up by noble manners to play. That’s all. He wasn’t special - she was out of practice. 

“If you leave the letter, we’ll get it to town today,” she said, wiping her mouth and getting up. Suddenly she didn’t have much of an appetite.    
  


“We’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” Feyre stated. 

“Why?” Nesta asked. 

“We’re leaving right after, why not accompany you to town?” 

Nesta raised an eyebrow and nodded to Feyre’s entire body. 

“We’ll be glamoured.” Rhysand assured. “No one will even know we are there.” 

_ I’ll know and it’ll piss me off.  _

“Fine,” she sighed, looking at both of them, “If you are ready.”    
  
They weren’t but Nesta left anyway. She just wanted this all to be done. She wanted to go back to her quiet life of planning Elain’s wedding and managing the estate. She didn’t want to think about the war that was absolutely guaranteed to destroy any hope of a peaceful existence. She shoved her feet in thick socks and boots, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and covered her hands with mittens.    
  
She then stopped by her study and collected some of the other documents she should send out while in town. Mailing multiple letters would make it less conspicuous, even considering neither her nor Elain had posted a letter themselves in months. When she was ready to go she stood by the door and waited for everyone else. They weren’t far behind. 

The walk to town was quiet. Rhysand and Feyre followed behind them. Elain occasionally would quietly ask the air if they had left yet, only to have Feyre tap her on the shoulder. Nesta just walked straight to the post office. She could still see them fine.  _ Glamours still don’t work, I see. _

When they got to the post office Feyre and Rhys stayed outside. It would be testing fate a little too much for either to try and enter the post office without being detected. The mail clerk was surprised to see them, as Nesta knew he would be, but Elain came in for the save. 

“I just had to mail this letter myself,” she let herself look more giddy, more ditzy, than she was. Elain motioned for the clerk to lean in, unnecessary with how loud she was whispering. “I got engaged!” She flashed the ring and then the letter. “I just had to mail Dad myself!” 

The clerk congratulated her and asked far too many details about the lucky young man. Of course Elain had a rapport with the mail clerk. Nesta posted the letters while Elain gave the man details about the proposal. The whole affair took much longer than necessary, but no one would possibly question why they were sending a letter to the continent. 

By the time they were done, Feyre and Rhysand were gone. No good byes or anything, they didn’t even stick around and confirm the letter was sent.  _ What was the fucking point of following us then?  _

“C’mon Elain, you’re going to want to stop by the toy store.” 

  
  


* * *

The first two sets of knocks on the front door didn’t do much to get anyone’s attention. With the ruckus behind the door, she wasn’t entirely sure anyone heard the knocks. A third set, harder, with the meat of her fist managed to get a response. 

“Abe! Door!” 

The door was wrenched open by a younger, stouter Isaac Hale with far worse acne than Nesta remembered Isaac ever having. Then again, it was Feyre who always paid the most attention to Issac in the old days. Abraham Hale immediately recognized them and took in a breath. 

“Nes- Lady Archeron!” he turned slightly to Elain, standing next to Nesta, “Lady Archeron!” He bowed awkwardly, as only a 14-year-old could. Limbs are hard to manage when they are constantly growing on you. 

“Isaac in?” Nesta asked, not bothering to correct the kid on either of their titles. They technically weren’t Ladies, not yet, but if you act like one enough, and have money, people just call you that anyway. 

“He’s in the back,” Abe stepped aside and let the sister’s in. 

Where their hut was small and barren, the Hale home was a decent size and far too full. Three bedrooms should be plenty of space… unless you have three generations living in one home. Well, four now. They walked through the kitchen, covered in dishes, leftovers, spare tools, and what looks like the unfinished pieces of a rocking chair. As they passed the stairs, Nesta noted the toys that littered each step, a death trap set by Isaac’s youngest sibling, no doubt. Finally, they reached what might have once been a sitting room. 

The seating was pushed aside to make room for a bed in the center of the room. Rebekah was bundled up neatly, quilts and afghans resting on her shoulders and laying on her lap. Isaac was sitting next to her, clothes askew and clearly worn for several days. Both of them were focused on the tiny thing swaddled in Rebekah’s arms. 

Nesta always thought newborn babies looked weird. Just little red squashed frog creatures. But she had to admit they were astonishing. So small and so new. She wasn't old enough to remember meeting Elain, but she did remember climbing into her mother's bed the night Feyre was born. She and Elain and their mother and father all huddled together watching the tiny red thing sleep. No one moving or speaking about anything else, just listening to her breathing, amazed at the new life that had come to join their family on that cold night. It didn't matter how weird she objectively looked, that night Feyre was the most adorable thing Nesta had ever seen. 

She couldn't say the same for Isaac's kid. 

Poor Jacob was just head too red and too blotchy. His hair was patchy and his body was swollen.  _ Are babies supposed to be this wrinkly? _

Elain was cooing though, thoroughly enamored with the little guy, practically running up to the little family and blowing raspberries and rambling utter nonsense at the babe. She pulled a small stuffed rabbit out from her cloak, shaking it gently in front of the boy.    
  


“We brought you a little present,” she said as Jacob reached for the toy. She helped guide it back into his arms. 

“Thank you milady,” Rebekah smiled, obviously surprised to see them, but too exhausted to express it properly. 

“We’ve come to offer congratulations on your new family,” Nesta smiled to Rebekah and Isaac, “And we come bearing a gift for the parents, too,” Nesta smiled as she pulled a packet of papers out from her cloak. Rebekah’s brow knit slightly while Isaac’s jaw dropped in surprise.

“I only sent you the acceptance yesterday!” Isaac had gotten up and walked across the room to Nesta. 

“And I commissioned the house the day you told me she was pregnant,” Nesta jerked her head to Rebekah. “This place is not big enough for your current family, let alone your new one.” Isaac took the papers and started reading them over. It was, in Nesta’s opinion, a very agreeable lease. The house would be theirs for almost no rent, provided they tend to the farmland around it and produce at least 3 tonnes of yield. The estate would take a percentage of the yield, scaling up the percentage based on the amount produced. In the event they produced less than the amount specified, only then did they need to pay rent. If Isaac wanted to make up the income as a carpenter, he could. 

“Isaac?” Rebekah looked to her husband, sitting up and holding their child tighter to her. He squinted at the paper when he read the description of the house. 

“I built this place,” he said with no small amount of disbelief. Nesta smiled, pleased with her victory. 

“So you can be sure it’s a quality house.” 

Isaac laughed quietly and closed his eyes, dropping his shoulders and head. He knew he had gotten played in the most delightful way. Nesta had offered him a potential lease several months ago, and his answer was a vague no. He couldn’t leave his family, he couldn’t impose on them, not that he didn’t want to. Then this morning she read the missive from him. Rebekah gave birth in his family’s living room, with his 4 siblings, his parents, his grandparents packed in around them. No privacy, no space, no peace and quiet for a sleeping baby. And goodness help them if they have a second one. His letter was less an announcement of Jacob’s birth, and more an inquiry to see if her offer was still on the table. 

“It’s a lovely little house,” Elain assured Rebekah. “Plenty of room for you to bring Sarah to help with the baby if you need,” she smiled. “And you’ll still have your own space.” 

“There’s enough room for the entire family, if we wanted,” Isaac corrected. 

“Only if you want to suffocate there as well as here,” Nesta muttered. “But it’s up to you, sign and you can move in as soon as you like.” Nesta motioned for Elain to follow her and made her way back out to the door. 

“Wait, I’ll see you out!” Isaac followed after them, and joined them on the street, closing the door behind him. His expression got more serious as he looked at the two women. “Is this really ok? These terms are-” 

“Of course!” Elain smiled. “Besides, after everything you did for Fey-” Isaac cut her off. 

  
“If it’s just because of my relationship with Feyre, then I can’t-” 

“I didn’t choose you as a favor,” Nesta stood up straighter, dropping any hint of jovial friendliness from her tone. “It’s business, an opportunity- for both of us. The terms aren’t just favorable to you. You do well, we do well. You do poorly, I still get paid. In three years if you turn out to be a terrible tenant, I’ll just evict you.” 

“But why me?”    
  


“Because you married Rebekah to get Abe an apprenticeship,” Nesta’s knowing grin was as evil as it was intimidating. Tomas loved to complain about how his brother should have gotten it. Blacksmithing was hard work, but it made good money. He didn’t bother hiding his disappointment in missing out on a good marriage from Nesta. “You do what you have to for your family.” 

Isaac looked away, his expression oddly solemn, but he nodded. “That I do.” 

“And taking care of this land is the best thing for them.” 

* * *

The staff came back that afternoon. Nesta “confided” in Jenny that Feyre had come to them for help. Her fiance turned out to be a criminal and she had come to meet an escort to the continent. Her paranoia demanded they turn the staff out before help arrived. It was a terrible cover story, and probably would have tarnished their reputation more, but all that really mattered is that there were no rumors about the fae. 

If the queens ever show up, they’d need a better cover story. At least they had time before then. 

“Am I allowed to embellish this one?” Jenny asked, braiding Nesta’s hair for bed. 

“Don’t you always?” Nesta countered. Jenny smiled. 

“Never to you, milady.” 

__

Jenny’s command of the domestic gossip chain remained incomparable. Even Elain’s engagement seemed like dull news when compared to the latest chapter in a fallen woman’s misadventures. No news travels like bad news.

Nolan had them summoned to the estate the next day, sending his own carriage to fetch them. Elain was immediately concerned that he was withdrawing his support, but Nesta knew better. The old crank didn’t care if any of them were two bit whores so long as the money was coming his way. No need to rush or panic, and certainly no need to leap because he said jump. Elain could rush over to assure the affections of her betrothed, but Nesta would take her time, spend her morning seeing to her own affairs. 

She waited until after lunch to have Connor prepare the carriage for her. Nesta sat at the head of the carriage just behind Connor on the trip over, wrapped neatly in fleece blankets. She spoke over her shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t be there long, so I ask that you remain at the Edessa estate, please.” 

“Yes, milady.” 

“You should be able to wait in the kitchens though, no need to stay with the carriage.” 

“Thank you, milady.” Nesta nodded though he couldn’t see it and let herself just listen to the rhythmic clopping of the horse hooves. She sat there for a few minutes when Connor spoke. “You know you can trust us, Jenny and I, I mean.” He said it gently. 

“Can I?” 

“She likes you a lot, and I do, too. So does Mrs. C and Darrow. Lionel, too... Henry’s got a crush on you even.” Nesta smiled to herself. She thought she’d caught the young butler staring once. 

“He’s not really my type.” 

Connor snorted, “We know.” He recovered, taking a solemn tone again. “I would have liked to serve Miss Clare, too.” Nesta took a deep breath, holding on to the edge of her seat. Connor continued to speak. “I know there are things that you think you can’t tell us, but you can, if you wanted. We will keep your secrets.” 

Nesta really wanted to believe him. She knew the staff knew more than they ever let on, knew that they didn’t believe a single lie she’d fed them about Feyre. But the truth… even if they stayed at her side it would only put them in greater danger. From men like Nolan, from creatures like the Attor, from King Hybern himself. 

“Let me know when you and Jenny are ready for your own home,” she answered. 

_____   
  


Weeks passed and no word came from either the fae or the queens. Their father sent letters she’d long since stopped reading, her new tenants moved in, and Elain’s wedding planning continued without a hitch. Nolan had given her some trouble after Feyre’s visit, but an early payment from the dowry was enough to shut him up. 

Life was peaceful, and for the most part, Nesta was able to push the thoughts of the war, the queens, and the fae from her head. Nesta found herself more involved with the wedding planning than she would have guessed, and spending more time at the Edessa estate, and with Graysen, than she ever thought she would. But it didn’t bother her so much, mostly because a trip to his estate almost always meant some time in the Ashwood grove. Honestly, she didn’t know if she actually was growing fond of Graysen, or just entirely associated him with those trees. 

But it wasn’t like he was unpleasant otherwise. He wasn’t an idiot, nor was he too proud to not realize that his family’s financial instability was the direct result of his father’s actions. And while he realized Elain’s social graces were her strength, he hadn’t missed Nesta’s airtight control of her own estate. He’d even ventured to ask once where exactly Nesta thought his father had gone wrong with their territory. 

“Well you’re first problem is your taxes,” Nesta tucked her hands into her muff, trying to keep them warm. 

“Excuse me?” he asked, more surprised than offended.

“You overcharge your taxes. No one can build wealth.” 

“We only charge 25%. That’s more than fair.”

“When you only make 100 silver a year, that 25% has way more impact. Demand 10% or less on income under 100 gold, 40% on income over 100,” Nesta explained. Elain yawned next to her, nothing bored her quite like math and taxes.

“But then you end up with less money than the poorer person,” Graysen said.

“No, you don’t tax all of it at 40%,” Nesta took a hand out of her muff to try and gesture with her explanation. “Look, let’s say I make 200 gold a year. On the first 100, I pay 10% in taxes, so 10 gold. On the second hundred, I pay 40% in taxes, or 40 gold. In total I pay 50, and keep 150 gold.” 

“My brain hurts.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes “It’s fairly common on the continent. Based on the income statements you showed me last time, you could bring in an extra 3500 gold a year right there, not even counting potential future growth” 

  
Graysen squinted at Nesta, Elain jumped in to explain. 

“Nesta’s always had a knack for maths. When she was little, she would skip music lessons to practice with father’s books.” 

“And the tax law, where did you learn that?” 

“I was the eldest, I was always groomed to inherit the family estate. Mother had me start learning how to manage a household when I was 5.” 

“That early?”

“How old were you when you learned to ride or fight?” Nesta asked. 

“Touche,” Graysen conceded. 

Lady Archeron accepted that her eldest had no talent for tapestry, embroidery, music, painting, or any of the fine arts.  _ A waste of a pretty face _ , her mother had told her. Nesta would never be a debutant or a courtier, she was much too hard for that. But, she was smart. Elain and Feyre could become courtiers and charm their way through society with their personalities and talents. Nesta, she decided, would have to learn to win her place in life with wits and grace. Nesta had to already  _ be _ a lady if she was ever going to be treated like one.

It took an extra 8 years, but it seemed that training finally paid off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it. Progressive. Like the taxes.


	23. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wings and embers, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wings and embers is required reading for this chapter. I recommend having it open because I'm not rewriting a pre-existing Nesta POV in a cannon-compliant series.

Life  _ had  _ been peaceful. 

Until one late winter day when she found a note with no return address tucked in with the rest of her mail. It was short. 

> _ One of us will check in and drop off another letter tomorrow, two hours past sunset. No need for extra privacy.  _
> 
> _ R _

She read that note at least ten times, trying to determine if it was anything other than what it really was. But there was no doubt. One of them was coming to check on them tomorrow night. She threw the damn thing into the fireplace. 

_ No need for extra privacy _

No need to send off the staff, then. Only one of them would be there, probably glamored. She could answer the door herself and let them in. But where to talk to them? Elain would be home, and Nesta really didn’t want Elain any more involved than she already was. There was only one place Nesta could guarantee they would not be disturbed. 

_ It better be the polite one. _

Not knowing which one was coming was the worst part. She could reasonably assume it wouldn’t be Feyre, as she didn’t know how to glamor. But it could be any of the others. She looked over the gowns in her closet, looking for one in particular. If she was going to deal with these Fae fucks, she was going in armed. She pulled out a lavender gown, the first one Clare had tailored for her. It served two purposes. For its first, wearing it gave her strength, like Clare was with her, holding her hand. For the second, if that prick Rhysand was the one dropping off the note, he’d recognize the dress from Clare’s memories and back off. 

After dinner, Nesta stayed in the parlor with a deck of cards, playing a game by herself. It was unusual for Nesta to spend an evening on her own, with neither Elain nor the staff when they were available, but it wasn’t entirely unheard of. With the dress she had chosen, Jenny immediately determined that this was more of a “leave Nesta alone” day. 

Nesta heard the tell-tale flapping before anything else. She stood up immediately, expecting to hear the thud of a landing, but it didn’t come. She moved to the foyer and waited for the fae to land. Every moment was an eternity, but the flapping just kept going. It was circling the house. She started counting, a single rotation took about 10 seconds, and she counted 60 before boots thumped on the doorstep. 

She had a hand on the doorknob, stopping herself from jerking the door open before a knock came. One card, she only had one ace. One it seemed Rhysand hadn’t picked up on. The second she heard knuckles meet wood she threw open the door.

_ Shit _

The annoying one was on her doorstep, right where he had left a month before. She took a steadying breath and moved back, trying to look as casual as possible and not like she was leaving just enough room for a burly bat to pass through. 

“Is someone at the door?” Mrs. Laurent called, her steps coming closer from the back rooms. 

“Thought I heard something, but it’s just the wind,” Nesta called back, closing the door as soon as Cassian had cleared its reach. Laurent walked out the foyer, confirming for herself that Nesta was alone. “I’m going upstairs, tell Jenny not to come up for an hour.” 

“If you are going to bed then she should -” 

“Tell  _ Jenny  _ I said not to disturb me for an hour.” Nesta turned on her heel and started walking up the stairs as casually as possible. Fucking Hell she couldn’t wait for Laurent to leave with Elain. This woman matched unwarranted nosiness with complete willful ignorance. Any other staff member would just say “yes milady” and let it go. Even Jenny would just give her a cat’s grin and make a not-so-subtle comment to take her time. Hell, she could tell Jenny to leave her alone with Cassian in her chambers for an hour and she would probably have the same response. 

_ No. Bad. Bad thought. Bad. _

A blush filled her cheeks at the thought. Sure she was leading him to her bedroom, with the intention of letting him in this time, but this was a war meeting. He wasn’t thinking of her like that. She most definitely wasn’t going to either. He was a bat. Just a very large, handsome bat. 

Cassian walked around Nesta as she opened the door, slipping inside. She shut it behind her. She tried to choke down the nervousness of having a man, even or especially Cassian, in her room. Not even the butlers entered her chambers. 

Nesta walked across the room to the fireplace, trying to put as much distance between her and Cassian as possible, took a quiet, deep breath, and spoke. 

“You're ten minutes late.” 

> GO READ WINGS AND EMBERS AND COME BACK LOVE YOU （*＾3＾）/～♡

  
  


“I’ll mail the letter tomorrow morning,” Nesta stopped at the door. She was  _ absolutely  _ going to have the last word here. “You know nothing about who I am, and what I’ve done, and what I want. And while we’re on the subject… Send someone else next time. If I see you on my doorstep, I’ll scream loud enough for the servants to come running.” 

She slipped out of her room and started walking down the hall. Jenny was already walking towards her with a cart of water for her bath. “Done already?” Her knowing smirk was the last thing Nesta wanted to deal with right now. 

“I’m going for a ride.” She needed the cool air, now. 

Nesta walked right out the front door, slamming it behind her in time with the boom of wings that filled the air. She looked up as Cassian launched himself into the night, flying at a dizzying speed back to the otherside of that damn Wall. Nesta turned to the stables, saddling her horse herself, not wanting to deal with anyone else tonight. 

Once she led her mare from the stables, she hopped up onto its back and kicked it into gallup. The air pierced her face, stinging cold against her skin. But it was exactly she needed right now. 

Because she was, in a word, hot. 

Hot with anger. 

Hot with desire. 

Hot with shame. 

She thought last time she was so worked up because she hadn’t played in a while. But this… this was different. Cassian was different. He managed to find every exposed nerve and stroke them. He pinpointed her lack of experience with men and prodded at it. He seemed to stumble onto her history with women without even realizing it was a target. 

How he managed to figure out what Tomas had done she had no idea. But he didn’t tease her about it. The bastard tried to defend her, avenge her. Avenge her in the direct, masculine manner she wasn’t allowed to use. She was bare to him. Completely clothed, in the dress Clare made her no less, but she was bare in front of that man. 

Wanting. 

The devil help her, she wanted him. She wanted him to keep kissing her neck, she wanted him to press his body on hers, she wanted his hands to grip her chest, her ass. She wanted those lips, that tongue, to do all the things she had read about in her old filthy romance novels. 

And then he licked her and she jumped back. Not because she wanted him to stop, but because it felt so, so... _ electric.  _

Fuck, she was in over her head. And fuck him for doing that to her. For working her up so perfectly that she was ready to beg him to keep going. For stopping and throwing venom back at her. It was a damn unfair, how easily he threw her around. How he didn’t even know what the fuck he was talking about and he still managed to hit his target perfectly. 

_ “It’s easier, isn’t it? To wield the words and the coldness as armor to keep everyone from seeing where and who you failed and how you did not care until it was too late.”  _

He thought he was just talking about Feyre. And if he was, she might have been able to shake it off as easily as she did his High Lord’s barbs, keep control. But Cassian’s words were broader, encompassing all her most grievous sins. 

How she watched her mother waste away, powerless to stop it. 

How she let her sister keep them alive, unwilling to help her. 

How she couldn’t step through the Wall, unable to work up the courage. 

How she didn’t love Clare until it was too late, too frozen to see what was in front of her. 

Nesta hadn’t gotten angry like that since she was a child. It was like he was undoing every restraint his mother had painstakingly trained into her. Suddenly she was acting out again, striking out again. Not a righteous fury, not life or death fear, just simple, white-hot anger. Suddenly she was 7 and he was Jeremy, denying that Morrigan of the Truth was real and fought in the War, and instead of beating him with words and wit, she just wanted to beat him. 

But she’s not 7, and he’s not Jeremy. He’s a fully grown fae warrior, a general. So he held her, held her knee and her waist and if she wasn’t so angry she might have noticed that being held like that, by him, turned her on. But she was angry, and she wasn’t 7 anymore, and he was already clearly taken with her. 

So she adapted.

She knew how to hunt men. She hunted them better than Feyre hunted wolves. All it takes is the tiniest bait, the tiniest hint that a woman might be interested, and men lose all their senses. 

That is what pissed her off the most, she decided, finally slowing down the horse from a gallup to a trot, ready to turn back to the house. It wasn’t that he turned her on, or that he managed to target all of her insecurities, or even that his entire being seemed designed to get a rise out of her. It’s that despite all that, he was still just some stupid man, easily distracted by very small possibility of kissing her. 

  
  


By the time she made it back to the house, she was entirely calm. The red on her cheeks was from the cold, not the bat. Connor was waiting by the stable, ready to take the horse. Jenny was leaning against him, arms crossed. Both of them were watching her with concerned looks in their eyes. They didn’t ask about whatever bothered her, not because they didn’t want to know or wouldn’t listen, but because they knew Nesta wasn’t going to talk about it unless she wanted to.

She was glad for their understanding. What could she say anyway? “I just had a very hot encounter with the general of the Night Court. He’s got perfect hazel eyes and hair you just want to run your fingers through, but manages to find every possible avenue of pissing me off. I’ve never been attracted to a man before and the one woman I was probably attracted to was kidnapped by the fae because my sister and her current beau really fucked up. Is it weird that I have never really experienced attraction to someone else like this? Is there something wrong with me? I feel like I might be a very repressed person, but I don’t know if it’s my general dislike of most people, my incredibly high standards, or the result of my awful relationship with my parents. But it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Yeah no, she definitely couldn’t say that. 

Nesta just stayed silent while Connor took her mare and Jenny walked her inside. She spotted the letter on her night stand as she re-entered her room. She’d deal with it tomorrow. Right now, a bath and sleep were in order. She would deal with  _ Cass  _ later. 

Or never. 

But that didn’t work last time, did it?

* * *

2 weeks passed since her encounter with Cassian. And she was still thinking about it. Not all the time, like at first. But enough. When she was alone, when she was bored, when she was trying to sleep. She ultimately decided, on her walk back to the house from a visit with the Hales in their new farmhouse, that the part that stuck with her the most was his frank goodness. 

_ I’d do it for anyone.  _

She had never met anyone who’d just do the right thing for a stranger, for a woman, for no other reason than it was just the right thing to do. She’d read about it in stories as a child, fantasized about noble knights, defending maidens and the weak for no other reason than it was the goodness that compelled them. But those characters were fake. People didn’t act like that. They had personal motivations and dedications, and they looked the other way if anyone outside of their own circle was in danger. 

She had seen it time and again. Her friends let her family starve. The villagers that just watched as the mercenaries attacked Elain. The entire Mandray clan. People don’t just help each other. The world doesn’t work that way. 

And here this asshole was, just… offering his services. Wanting nothing in return, making no accusations, asking for no context. Someone was hurt, someone else did the hurting, he was going to make them pay. 

“Are all fae like that, or is Cassian just a simple idiot?” she asked no one in particular. 

“Not sure of the context, but Cassian is an idiot,” someone responded next to her. She whipped her head around to see Azriel walking next to her. He was dressed in the same dark leathers he wore last time, though he was coated in a fine layer of tan dust. 

‘“Shit! Where did you come from?” she asked, taking an involuntary jump back. 

“The continent,” he pulled out a letter and handed it to her. “The queens sent a response.” 

She ripped it open, reading through the text. 

“Two days? When did you get this?” Her voice rose a bit too much, but they were far enough away from others that there was no real cause for concern. 

“About ten minutes ago.” 

“Did you send a response yet?” She looked up at him. She could clear the staff easily, but on such short notice, it was going to be suspicious again. 

“No, I wanted to confirm with you and Elain first,” he gave her a little nod. “I also want to confirm the coordinates with you.”

Nesta sighed. “Confirm the meeting. Follow me to the house, I’ll double check the coordinates.” Azriel nodded and flicked his wrist. Nesta assumed he had glamored himself again. She continued her walk back to the house, keeping her eyes ahead. “How many of you should I expect?”  _ Is Cassian going to be there?  _

“It will most likely be 5, Feyre, Rhys, Cass, Mor, and myself,” Azriel’s voice answered beside her. 

“Mor? The one that walked Feyre out of Tamlin’s home?” She was trying to remember what else Feyre had said about the woman. She was blonde, maybe? 

“Yes, Rhys’s cousin, Morrigan.” 

Nesta stopped walking. Feyre hadn’t used her full name before, just calling her Mor. She turned to face Azriel, her face betraying incredulous disbelief. “You- you don’t mean Morrigan of the Truth?” 

“You’ve heard of her, then?” 

Nesta idolized her when she was a child. There was hardly a little girl who knew their history who didn’t. She was a hero of the war, a friend to the queens, the female fae who saw the truth of the horror of human slavery. And she apparently wasn’t a myth. Morrigan was real. Not only real, she was still alive. Alive, and coming to her house. 

“H-How old are you?” she asked. Azriel cocked his head. 

  
“We’re all old enough to remember the War,” he answered. “We all fought in it- allied with the human alliance.” 

Nesta took a second to register that sentence. She knew fae lifespans were vastly different from humans. But all of them, all of them were old enough to not only remember the war, but fight in the damn thing. Nesta turned forward again, and resumed walking to the house. 

This wasn’t the first time, then, that Feyre’s court had fought on the side of humans. She had dismissed their aide now with a wish to not lose their sovereignty to Hybern again. And perhaps they had similar reasons the first time around. But she couldn’t get Cass’s stupid, simple sentance.  _ I’d do it for anyone.  _ She had to ask the question, she had to know. 

“Why?” she said slowly. “Why did you fight in the War?” 

Azriel took a second to answer; Nesta could hear him fiddling with his mangled hands. Ultimately, he said “I won’t speak for others, but for me there was no choice. No one should live their life in captivity.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to do a chapter up to and right after Wings and Embers, but whatever. This story is as cannon compliant as possible, so I don't want to touch Wings and Embers as written. I just wanted to use to extrapolate more Nesta psychology. Also I love wings and embers and it's my favorite chapter SJM has written. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> (This chapter was the mostest fun to write) 
> 
> I'm assuming the letters asked for responses to be sent somewhere local on the continent to make communications faster. 
> 
> Next chapter: QUEENS


	24. Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queens meet with the Night Court in Nesta's parlor, and she is not impressed.

Feyre was naked. 

She wasn’t  _ naked.  _ But she was naked. 

Her gown was white chiffon and silk and left little to nothing to the imagination. The lingerie they just ordered for Elain’s wedding night was more conservative. It took all of Nesta’s self control to not walk Feyre upstairs and put her in real clothes. 

Then a blond woman appeared behind her, wearing the same scandalous type of dress, only in bright blood red. And Nesta didn’t need to be introduced to know who this woman was, what she was. Morrigan of the Truth, the only woman recorded to fight in the War, lover of humanity, friend to the Queens. Some scholars theorized that humanity had Queens instead of Kings because of her, to honor her. 

And there she was in front of Nesta and Elain, hugging and reassuring Feyre. She barely glanced Nesta’s way. 

For the first time in a year, Nesta felt the beast of envy roar inside her skin. She had felt it everyday Feyre had picked up a bow like it was nothing. In the past year, she had found some peace with it. The envy was still there, but its roar was more of a dull moan. Not today though. Today Nesta wished, for a moment, that her mother had never taught her to be a lady, that she could forget all decorum and just gush at her childhood hero. 

She glanced over as Azriel, who didn’t bother to look away from her, to hide how he was gauging her reaction to Morrigan. It didn’t bother Nesta, that he was keeping an eye on her. His observation didn’t reek of judgement, like his High Lord’s gaze, or of patronizing arrogance, like Cassian’s. It was his job. 

Nesta could accept that, the professionalism. She didn’t know how Azriel actually felt about her and she honestly didn’t care. He minded his manners and answered her questions with frank honesty. It made working with him to bring together the details of this meeting easy. The queens had demanded that the meeting be at 11 on the dot, along with their request to know the coordinates and layout of the house. Nesta sat in her study, pouring through the house blueprints while Az looked over her shoulder, noting what to put in his response. When she asked why they needed this level of detail, Azriel was open with his own confusion at the request. He assumed that they wanted to plan out escape routes or something if it ended up being a trap, but wasn’t satisfied with that answer either. 

Nesta looked to the clock, it was getting close to 11 now. Whatever the reason for the request, they would find out soon enough. Nesta checked the braid Elain had made for her. She had the staff leave the night before, leaving the door unlocked for the fae to let themselves in the early hours of the morning. They didn’t come downstairs themselves until it was nearing the time for the meeting; partially because Nesta didn’t want Elain around the fae for a second longer than necessary, and partially because it took that long to get ready. 

Elain pulled her locks into a tight braid that crowned her head, ending in a swirl at the base of her skull. Similar to the style she wore at the Rutland ball. She and Elain were re-wearing their dresses from the Ball, too. It was a bit early in the season, but it was their best. The lilac-and-silver fabric of the dress shimmered with every little motion, catching and reflecting the late morning sun against her curves. After Cassian’s crack at the volume of her skirts, she half expected him to make another one at the extra fabric of her sleeves. And while she did catch him taking in her full dress, it was her neck and ears he stared at. She knew it wasn’t the thumb-sized amethysts that caught his attention. He was noting the iron settings and wire work. 

He looked… good today. Fancier. His hair was neatly pulled back into half-pony, no wind-swept flyaways in sight. He was still in leather armor, but it was cleaner, tighter against his chest. He was wearing more of those red gems, not just on the back of his vambraces, but on his knees, shoulders, and one over his sternum. The gems themselves seemed to glow and vibrate. 

Cassian smiled at her in that perfect taunting grin of his. He had caught her staring. He turned slightly, ready to no doubt give her guff about it, when a powerful wind blew through the room. The queens had arrived. 

  
And something about them  _ reeked. _

Nesta had to stop herself from gagging on the scent of chalk, seaweed, and rust. She looked around, no one else seemed to note the smell. Or if they did, they hid it well. 

“Well met,” Rhysand applauded, stepping forward and observing the queens. The five of them all seemed as different from each other as they were from her. She had never seen such a variety of women in one place. The oldest had to be pushing 70, deep wrinkles cutting into her warm brown skin. She was hardly frail though, standing tall and firm. She wore a dark blue gown, with matching crystals knotted into her long white dreads. With the colors she wore, the simple iron circlet across her brow, there was little doubt she was Queen of Bremerhaven. 

The next two were opposites of each other, and dressed like it. One was dark as moonless night, dressed in a gorgeous pale white gown. The only thing betraying her age was the smile lines in the corner of her eyes. The next was pale to the point it was concerning, from her hair to her eyes to her skin. But she was dressed in a matte black dress. Both had matching rings and matching iron and silver coronets. The queens of the united lands of Rhine-Weser, then. 

The other two were young, the same age as the sisters. One was wearing an emerald diadem etched with the sigil Oder, standing a head shorter than everyone else. Her eyes and hair a matching black silk. She looked suspicious of everything around her, holding a tight grimace as she took in the people. 

And finally there was the golden lioness, the queen of Elbe. She was as beautiful as the rumors suggested, honey-brown skin contrasting the bright yellow of her hair, so curly and large it extended almost a foot behind her head. In lieu of a crown her whole body was powdered with gold dust, the trademark of her country. 

But one was missing.

“Where is the sixth?” Rhysand asked at the end of his initial greeting.

“She is unwell, and could not make the journey,” the oldest said, not even bothering to look at the High Lord of Night. She was far too busy studying Feyre with a look Nesta had only seen on debutants coveting their friends’ jewelry, “You are the emissary.” 

“Yes,” Feyre’s voice cracked as she spoke the first word. This was a bad idea, Feyre was not like her sisters. She was not raised for this. You need someone to crawl around in the dirt, hunt down a wolf, skin it and keep you alive? Call Feyre. You need someone to play politics with 5 of the 6 most powerful humans in the world? Call anyone else. 

The queen dismissed Feyre entirely after that misstep.  _ She’s not trained for this.  _ “And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first was dispatched.” 

_ So they had gotten the second letter. _

“I am,” Rhysand gestured behind him, “And this is my cousin, Morrigan” 

Most of the queens gasped, following the involuntary outburst with some attempt to mask the shock. But not the golden lioness. She just eyed Morrigan as the fae stalked up to Feyre’s side, taking note of the way Morrigan moved, her grace, her power, even the way she bowed. 

“It has been a long time since I met with a mortal queen.”  _ That’s an understatement.  _

“Morrigan -  _ the  _ Morrigan form the War.” The pale queen said, her voice sounding as frail as she looked. 

Mor only bowed once more in the face of their astonishment. “Please- sit”

Each queen took her seat, keeping their attention to Mor and Rhysand. Their guards remaining in formation around the room behind them, eyes locked solidly on Cassian and Azriel, standing in perfect attention at the front of the room. Only the lioness took the time to notice the humans standing in the corner not 10 feet from the bats. 

“I assume those are our hosts.” 

Nesta didn’t bow. This woman, all these women, were queens, but not  _ her  _ queens. Her island was unclaimed by a monarch, the slip of land below the Wall deemed too risky for any of the original queens to want ownership. Here, lords and ladies owned property, and either leased or collected taxes from the people who lived on or next to that land. Each landowner was technically equal to the other, and decisions were made through a series of complex alliances and friendships. It was a confusing mess of a political climate, but it was resilient. Power was too spread out for any one lord or lady to be an effective target. The flip side was they did not move well as one. 

Nesta held the lioness’ gaze. Let her learn what it means to deal with an islander. She could have sworn the queen wanted to smile. 

“My sisters,” Feyre explained. The queen turned her head back to Feyre, back to the ridiculously unsubtle crown she was wearing. 

“An emissary wears a golden crown. Is that tradition in Prythian?” 

“No, but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can’t resist.” His smile was the only one in the room. He could play it off as flirting all he wanted, but it sent a message as clearly as Nesta’s iron-wrapped jewelry did. Feyre was to be treated and respected as a Fae Queen, his Fae Queen. 

“A human turned into a High Fae… and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honor. Interesting.”  _ Just say you know they are fucking.  _

“You have an hour of our time, make it count,” the old one said.  _ Only an hour? Fuck I only needed to send the staff away for the day, then.  _

“How is it that you can winnow?” Morrigan spoke first.  _ Getting the elephant out of the way, then.  _ She was answered by the gold queen and her mocking grin. 

“It is our secret, and our gift from your kind.”  _ Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. Mine.  _ The words flitted through Nesta’s thoughts before she could truly register them, along with the image of a deep well. Feyre started speaking, turning to the real topic. 

“War is coming. We called you here to warn you - and to beg a boon.” 

“We know war is coming,” the ancient woman scoffed. “We have been preparing for it for many years.” In her defense, it was a dumb way to phrase it.

“The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We’ve seen no signs of preparation,” Feyre stated. Nesta choked down her laughter, glad that no eyes were on her.  _ That old geezer.  _ His stupid subterfuge actually fucking worked, they really thought no one on the island knew about the threat. 

“This territory is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.” Nesta’s amusement died. There it is. Their ancient dismissal. Neither the lioness nor any of the other queens ever gave a damn about the island or the people that lived here. Why would they start now? 

“Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent,” Rhystand’s tone was distant and cold. She could have stabbed him. 

“Yes. To lose one life is always a horror. But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it,” she explained. Objectively, she wasn’t wrong. Even the ancient war wasn’t fought on the continent. These lands were just assigned as the result of the latitude the Wall went up at. Sacrificing this territory was the smart play. But Nesta couldn’t see it as just a territory. It was home. 

“There are good people here,” Feyre argued, seeing the same visions Nesta no doubt saw. Not impersonal numbers of a census, but the actual people they had grown up with. 

“Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them,” she said sweetly, as though there was no further argument to have. 

It was an argument Nesta herself would have made under different circumstances. If she didn’t know first hand that leaving human lives in the hands of the Fae spelled death. It did for Clare. It did for Feyre. She couldn’t leave Elain in their hands, too. Or Jenny. Or Connor. Or Isaac and Rebekah and their ugly baby. Or even Tabitha. 

“We have servants here. With families. There are  _ children _ in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?” Nesta stood as straight as possible. 

“It is no easy choice, girl-” 

“It is the choice of  _ cowards _ ,” Nesta spat through her teeth, summoning her mother’s voice and expression, the one that used to scare her more than her slaps. 

“For all that your kind hates ours… you’d leave the Fae to defend your people?” But Feyre just had to get in her way and say exactly the wrong thing. From the amused smile on the gold queen as she responded, she was clearly enjoying toying with her opponent. She didn’t even bother to correct Feyre that the islands  _ weren’t _ her people. 

“Shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they defend against a threat of their own making? Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?” 

“Neither side is innocent,”  _ Oh shut the fuck up you overpowered piece of shit, what the fuck could humans even do to you fucks.  _ “But we might protect those who are. Together.”  _ Like you did for Clare?  _ Nesta was saved from tearing into the High Lord by the old drone of a queen. Saved by the sheer luck of the queens wholly ignoring the humans in the corner. At least that’s what she hoped.

“Oh? The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him? To fight for peace?” She was laughing at him, dark and bitter. “And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit?” Nesta hated everyone in the room at the moment. She hated that she agreed with these cowardly queens. She hated that they had let Feyre take the lead on negotiations. She hated that the only way to save her home was in the hands of fae who so  _ clearly  _ had no idea what they were doing. “We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a male who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word.”

Feyre tried to press them again, seemingly unaware that her court had already lost. She had told Nesta and Elain that Rhysand’s reputation was all an act, something he chose to put on to protect his home. And speaking to Cassian, to Azriel, seeing how Feyre lit up when she looked at him, Nesta was sure that it was. But that act still came at a steep price. A price he didn’t have to pay. Clare paid it. And now all the humans on this forsaken island would, too. 

Feyre begged, pleading for mercy. And Nesta just stood there, stewing with more and more anger. Feyre was laying her heart bare to these vultures, and there was no way it would work. It was just words. Nesta could begrudgingly trust Rhysand, even if she hated him, because her sister trusted him. But Feyre was a stranger to these queens. Who cared what her story was? 

These women were all well aware of the cost of losing this war. They had entire kingdoms of people to protect. They couldn’t risk it all on a stranger’s words. Not with 500 years of rumors and common sense telling them the High Lord of the Night Court was not to be trusted. The old queen was probably going to tell Feyre as much when Rhysand cut it. 

“Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice.” Nesta felt herself separate from her physical body. She wasn’t allowed to insult them, but  _ Rhysand  _ was? 

“For the greater good-” 

“Many atrocities have been done in the name of the greater good.”  _ And how many did you commit?  _ The question was also in the queen’s expression as she held Rhysand’s gaze. Nesta had no doubt every human in the room was thinking the same thing. But the old queen only responded. 

“The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm-” 

“That’s enough,” Morrigan of the Truth finally got to her feet, deciding at the eleventh hour to finally fucking do something. 

“I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as truth- as your ancestors once did.” The room stopped, waiting to hear what she had to say. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then to battle Amarantha until his own. I marched back into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her- my friend. And your ancestors, those queens who signed that Treaty,” she looked down a moment, solemn and sad, remembering something old and painful and… “They were my friends, too. And when I look at you…” her tone changed again, to contempt, “I see  _ nothing _ of those women in you. When I look at you, I know your ancestors would be ashamed.”

“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our peoples? There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their peoples. Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead-” 

“Mor,” Rhys stopped her. There was such a thing as too much truth. 

The queens considered Mor’s words, the truth she revealed. No doubt noting the differences in the stories from the history books. Maybe she should have tried to talk to them before this, go over details of the human accounts of the war. Like that Jurian was a legendary hero who defeated one of the deadliest fae generals and died trying to take out the second. And that Drakon was a bit of a controversial figure. He was a hero of the war, yes, but the stories painted him as a corruptor. He drove the wedge between Miryam and Jurian, separating them and indirectly leading to both of their deaths. Poetry sometimes redeemed him by emphasizing his glorious death and sacrifice, but it was rare. 

If she was speaking the truth, that Miryam and Drakon live, happy and isolated on a little island, it would be a revelation. On one hand, yes, fae and humans living together in peace is remarkable. But the telling was so important here. Framing it as the happy ending Jurian bought them would be better, help it go down easier. 

The only thing that they had going for them right now was that it was Morrigan of the Truth speaking. The friend of humans, incapable of lying, able to see, know, and show the truth to anyone willing to listen. The crone spoke again. 

“Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumor claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say - a male of peace.” It was not an unreasonable request. It was the most reasonable thing anyone had said yet, and far more generous an offer than Nesta thought they were going to get. So why did the Night Court look so grave? 

“You desire proof? I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you,” Rhysand answered. 

“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie,” the lioness stood. 

“Then come at your leisure,” Rhysand spread his arms out, finally letting some bite through. The guards stepped forward, but a single smile from Cass had them cowering. “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital to the Book is to  _ both  _ our efforts.” 

“We will consider it once we have your proof. That book has been in our possession for 500 years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.” 

“Good luck” the lioness smirked at them.

And they vanished, taking their wretched scent with thim. 

Elain sighed, “I hope they all burn in hell.” 

_ I hope they side with us.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta "why don't you let me emotionally abuse them into submission" Archeron. 
> 
> Nesta "Why is my feral little sister being made a diplomat" Archeron.
> 
> Nesta "verbal sparring is my one cannon ability at this point" Archeron.
> 
> Nesta "did you even tell them what the book is for" Archeron. 
> 
> Nesta "THIS IS NOT HOW YOU GET AN ALLIANCE" Archeron. 
> 
> I'm assuming that everything about Hybern, the book, and the Wall was in the original letter, because they sure don't talk about the details here. 
> 
> That there is no context or explanation on the government structure of the island or the continent is a real pain in my ass and fully convinced me that Feyre absolutely has no idea what it is. It was nice being able to flesh that out a bit, and to get more into the Human Lore of the War.


	25. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queens leave, Nesta celebrates her birthday. 
> 
> Content Warning: There is sexual content in this chapter and mild gore.

The fae left with almost no discussion, just a promise to return with another letter in a matter of days. Nesta took the chance to decompress with Elain as soon as they left., collecting tea cups as they spoke. 

"You can't really blame them. They have their own lands to protect." Elain wishing they to go to hell was a little harsh, in Nesta’s opinion. Though she had the presence of mind not to say that in front of the fae. Less that she cared what they thought, more that it would probably start a fight and drag out their visit. 

"They didn't ask any questions Nesta." Elain answered, a harsh tone contrasting her soft voice. She picked up a teacup and turned back to her sister. "They never asked why we needed the book, or the cauldron, or the wall"

"I assumed it was all in the letter."

"Rhysand wouldn't put such sensitive information in a letter. And even if he did… they didn't ask about Hybern, or what we knew about their forces, or where he might strike first, or anything."

"Perhaps they just wanted to feel us out first, figure out if they could trust us before getting potentially purposely false information.” It felt like a stretch as she said it. 

  
“This isn’t gossip, Nesta,” Elain’s harsh tone took Nesta by surprise. Elain rarely spoke with such hardness. “This is war. You take any information you can get your hands on and verify it later.” Elain shook her head. “But they didn’t ask for any, they just....” Elain scrunched her eyebrows, looking off in the middle distance. “They just wasted our time.” 

Nesta was quiet for a moment. Elain was always a lot smarter than people gave her credit for, including Nesta. Sure, she was optimistic to the point of naive, and never bothered to pay attention to her studies, but sit her down and play a game? Elain never lost a game. 

She could see every move her opponents were going to make and devise a counter strategy for it. Forget 5 moves ahead, Elain had entire matches mapped out before they even began. And what war but a game with terrible stakes? If she was worried, then they all should be. 

“What do you think they want?” Nesta asked, watching her closely. Elain took a breath, considering. She had probably been trying to figure the queens out from the moment they appeared in the living room. 

“They don’t care about us,” she said carefully, “but that’s not news. They’ve been ignoring Nolan and Graysen’s pleas for aide for years.” 

“They have?” 

“Yes, though, originally they responded that Nolan was just paranoid. But recently, the letters were more in line with what they said today. This island isn’t worth the resources it would cost to save it,” she sighed. This was clearly not the first time she’d had this conversation. How many times were her and Graysen’s walks just strategy sessions? Did he value her input? Did he listen to her the way he alluded he would? “But even if they don’t care about this island, why not ally with Rhysand? Or appear to ally with him, at least.” Elain started pacing back and forth. “Even if they can’t send forces here, why not encourage fighting on the island separate from the continent? It would only serve to split Hybern’s forces. Even if they couldn’t trust Rhysand, even if  _ he _ was the threat, it wouldn’t be any worse of a position than they are in now. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like… ” Elain stopped and looked at Nesta. “it’s like we’re playing chess and they are playing bridge.” 

  
  


Nesta expected the next letter to the queens to be hand delivered, like Cassian’s. Hopefully by Azriel. She’d use the moment to voice Elain’s concerns to the Night Court. She didn’t trust them anymore than the queens, but at least they had skin in the game on the same continent. 

But no one came to visit. The letter for the queens just appeared in her pile of mail 3 days after the queens left. Whatever the Fae were off doing, they seemed to be too busy to bother filling in the lowly humans. She posted the letter and started making failsafe plans with Elain. 

* * *

Nesta was walking through a frozen forest, her feet cold and sore, but not unbearably so. Griffin was next to her, commenting on how close they were to the Wall now. That they should walk slowly, so they don’t walk into it full force. 

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. _

The wind called to her, beckoning her to approach. Nesta knew they were at the Wall before Griffin had said anything, she could feel it siren song. The wall thrummed. Vibrating and calling to Nesta. 

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.  _

Cassian was so close to her now, she should back away, walk away. But there was that pulsing again. A warm heart beating, calling to her. 

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.  _

His lips came to her neck, her steps approached the wall, and the call only grew louder. 

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.  _

She wanted to feel the source of that vibration, the power that lay within. She extended her hand to the surface of the Wall, to Cassian’s chest, and lightning shot through her, sending her back. The spark ran from her fingertips to her eyes, fading to black as quickly as it had come. 

_ Not yet.  _

The early morning sun poured through her bedroom window. Bright and clear, she watched the dust dance around them. Nesta yawned and stretched, leaning into the fingertips that traced lines down her cheek, jaw, and neck. 

“Are you sure this is all you want for your birthday?” Clare’s golden hair was loose, flowing freely all around her. She was propped up on her side, watching her lover with a look of contented awe. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Nesta pushed herself up and turned over, finding Clare’s lips with her own. Clare smiled on her mouth and gently pushed Nesta back. 

“It doesn’t seem like that much of a gift. I could make you a new dress you know.” Her tone was light, joking, loving. Nesta’s response was heavy and pleading. 

“No, all I want is one day here with you.” 

Clare smiled. “Well if you insist.”

This time Clare leaned in for the kiss, letting her free hand snake around the back of Nesta’s neck. Each kiss was deeper than the last, but none of them were rushed. Her lips were so soft, softer than Nesta had ever imagined them to be. When Clare’s tongue met Nesta’s lip, she parted happily. Each second, each moment, each feeling perfect. 

Clare’s hands started working this magic elsewhere. Starting with languid strokes down Nesta’s arms and side, eventually getting her ample breasts. She fully groped one, feeling it heavy in her hand. Giving it a good squeeze, Clare pulled away for a moment. “Lay back” 

Nesta did, beyond pleased to have Clare follow and straddle her. With two hands available now, Clare lavished attention on Nesta’s breasts, her nipples. She moved from kissing Nesta’s lips to her jaw and neck, finally arriving at her ears. 

  
“They’re just so good” she laughed, pinching a nipple. Nesta cried out at the sensation. Clare laughed softly and continued her work. Nesta’s own hands took their time feeling up Clare’s sides, marvelling at the creamy smooth skin. She eventually worked up the courage to have her own fun with her friend’s bosom. Smaller than hers by far, but so perky, so responsive. 

On hand left Nesta’s breast and traveled south, finding a wet home waiting. Nesta gasped, trying to focus on returning the favor, only to be unable to control her hands when Clare’s finger ghosted her clit. “Just feel it, Nesta”. 

A dangerous order, but for the first time in who knows how long, Nesta wanted to feel it. She relaxed and let the sensations wash over her. She kept her hands on Clare, but they did little more than grip flesh as Clare worked her to an orgasm with her fingers. Nesta yelled out as she came, curling her toes and unconsciously digging her nails into Clare’s thighs. When she finally stopped clenching Clare’s fingers, Clare removed her hand, bringing it to her mouth. Clare’s green eyes met Nesta’s icey blue ones as she sucked the juices from each digit. 

“Delicious,” she smiled, scooting her legs back and leaning down. “I bet it’s even better here.” If her fingers felt good, Clare’s tongue was phenomenal. Nesta clenched and relaxed and came and felt and was. Nesta yelled and screeched with each orgasm until every limb was jelly. Finally, Clare lifted her head from between Nesta’s legs and laid it on her belly. 

“Like your gift?” 

“Loved it.” Nesta breathed, her head back against the pillow. She wiped the sweaty hair from her brow and picked up her head, looking down at Clare’s perfect, red, swollen lips. She cupped her face, leading her back up her body and kissed her again. “And I love you.” Nesta let her hands explore Clare’s side and legs, each stroke getting closer to the target. “Your turn.” 

“Ah ah ah,” Clare pulled back, still fully stradling Nesta. 

“What?” Nesta asked, trying to crane her neck for another kiss. 

“I die a maiden, remember?”

The skin under Nesta’s hands grew mottled and hard. Countless wounds appeared everywhere on Clare’s body. Blood leaked from Clare’s eyes and mouth, falling into Nesta’s own. Nesta would have screamed but her throat was filled with ash as Clare’s flesh burned to dust in front of her. Clare’s screams filled the room until she was all gone, only a pile of bones trapping Nesta to the bed. 

* * *

Nesta woke with a start, clenching her chest through the night gown. Gasping for air, Nesta took in her surroundings. It was before dawn, still dark. She was alone in her bed, fully clothed. 

It was a dream. Only a dream. 

Nesta threw back the covers, and walked over to her fireplace. It had burned down to embers. She debated adding more fuel, building it back up, but couldn’t find the motivation. Instead she just squatted by the dying fire, warming her hands. 

The Wall, Cassian, and Clare. Three things she hated to think about. Three things that broke open her iron-plated shield and made her  _ feel _ things. And now they were joining forces to wreck her shit before the sun was even up. 

_ It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it? _

Birthdays hadn’t been fun since she was a child. When she was young, her mother threw lavish parties in her honor, showing off her three beautiful daughters. Gifts and cake and music and games, all watched over by loving, if tightly wound, mother. But after she got sick, parties were just a waiting game for when the booze transformed Lady Archeron from controlled and cold to a public embarrassment. Then after she died… Nesta had no interest in celebrating anything. By the time they got to the damn hut, it was almost a blessing that there was no money for anything, even cake. 

Last year, they hadn’t debuted yet, and were getting ready to move into the house. She got out of parties and well wishes. This year though, Elain had demanded they celebrate. Nesta would have been fine with nothing, but Elain wanted to thank her. For what, Nesta wasn’t sure. 

As a compromise, Nesta agreed to a small but proper pre-spring picnic, in the only place she thought she could stomach the day. The ashwood grove. 

No matter how many times she visited, Nesta couldn’t explain it. The grove was peace, pleasant nothingness. Isn’t wasn’t numbness, but it wasn’t crushing emotions either. It was like she was home again, actually home, before everything had gone to shit. 

A knock on the door. 

“Lady Nesta? You asked to be woken early?” 

Nesta took a deep breath and pushed down her dream and its terror.  _ Time to perform. _

* * *

Besides the ashwood grove, there were two other reasons the Edessa estate was the perfect place for Nesta’s birthday party. 

  1. It severely limited the guest list. 
  2. It gave the party a hard cut off. 



There was no way Nolan wasn’t going to kick them out the second the sun came down. Which suited Nesta just fine. She could go home and raise a stiff glass of scotch to the world for not killing her for yet another year. Until then, she had to deal with Elain’s excitement, Graysen’s polite well wishes, Maria’s desperate need to show off, and Tabitha’s ire. But it was only for 7 hours. And she could make it through 7 hours. That wouldn’t be that hard. 

Connor pulled into the Edessa estate at exactly 1pm. Nesta had spent the morning doing her daily work, settling as many tenant contracts as possible. It had been a busy and expensive few weeks, but it was the only thing she could think to do. If they were living on the Archeron estate, when war came, thanks to Elain’s marriage, they would be Edessa's problem, too. They could be taken in behind his walls, armed with his ashwood. 

The Wall, Cassian’s power, Clare’s decimated corpse, all passed through Nesta’s mind. 

She pushed them down again. Now was not the time. If she let herself think about that, she’d lose herself. She’d stop trying. 

“We’re here,” Elain smiled as she saw Graysen come out to greet her. As she stepped out of the carriage, Nesta turned to Connor “8pm sharp.” 

“Happy birthday, milady,” he nodded in return. 

Graysen led them back to the grove where a picnic had been set up among the trees. The other guests had already arrived, sitting in heavy cloaks among trays of goodies, games, and a small stack of presents. 

“Nesta, happy birthday,” Tabitha stood and curtsied as they approached. Her face asked the question she dare not say in front of others.  _ Why the hell did you invite me?  _

“Tabitha, thank you for coming,” Nesta curtsied, but not as low.  _ Because you’ll hate it as much as me.  _

Maria wished Nesta a happy birthday, stating that her gift was to perform any song Nesta requested today. Nesta had to stop herself from requesting “silence”. And their party started, everyone taking seats around the blanket, drinking warmed cider. Elain had planned out games to be played, and decided to start with Canasta, since they were an odd number. 

It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Tabitha, already bored after one hand, decided to move the afternoon along. 

“How about we make this more interesting? The winner of each hand gets to ask anyone else a single question, and that person has to answer truthfully.” Maria jumped onto the idea. Graysen and Nesta glanced at each other and then to Elain. 

“Sure,” they both shrugged. Elain would win every hand anyway. 

This was, Nesta realized after the first hand, a terrible thing to agree to. Elain had decided to use this game as a ploy to get Nesta to “open up” and “make friends”. She also may have already had too much cider and decided to sort out a certain childhood mystery.

“Did you purposefully get Madame Cartright fired?” Elain squinted at her sister. 

“Who’s Madame Cartright?” Maria asked. 

“Their governess,” Graysen answered. 

Nesta glared back at Elain, finished her cider in one gulp, and said “yes.” 

“I  _ knew  _ it,” Elain finished her drink and motioned for a servant to refill both their mugs. “How?” 

“I answered the question,” Nesta responded. 

“Multiple part questions are allowed,” Tabitha smiled. “And I’m curious, too.” 

Nesta sighed and took a sip from her newly full mug. “Governesses should know better than to hit their charges’  _ faces _ .” 

* * *

“Nesta, what happened to your face?” Nesta walked up to her mother’s bed sheepishly. A large cut across her cheek. Lady Archeron had seen it the night before, when it was still fresh but hadn’t noticed it then. Now, in the early morning light, before her first “dose,” she had enough wits about her to notice her daughter. 

“Madame Cartright hit me.”

“Is this true?” She looked up at the old woman in the back of the room. 

“Nesta decided to mouth off in lessons,” she responded, standing proud. 

“Nesta?” Her tone wasn’t angry, just concerned. 

“If you heard the language this child used. I’m not even sure where-” 

“Excuse me, but I asked my daughter.” Lady Archeron snapped, turning her steely gaze to the old woman. Even with her weakened voice, she still managed to instill fear by sheer force of presence alone. “And you know what, Michelle? I don’t care what language she used or what she called you. If you cannot maintain your composure when educating my children, then we will not require your services anymore. Please clear out your belongings by the end of the day.” 

“My lady!” 

“Good bye, Michelle.” 

Madame Cartright bowed and left the room, her fists shaking. Lady Archeron turned her attention back to her eldest daughter. 

“Come here, Nesta.” Nesta stepped closer, and her mother put a gentle hand on her cheek. “You are a smart girl, you know how to hold your tongue. Why did you goad Madame Cartright?” 

“She wouldn’t let me read,” Nesta conveniently left out the part about being up a tree when Cartright had found her. And that she had already turned into her mother for climbing trees. Her mother had been too drunk at the time to remember. 

“And you decided to get her to hit you so I would fire her, and you would be able to read?” 

Nesta nodded. Her mother burst out laughing. 

“You do think like a Lady,” she smiled at her daughter and patted her on the head. Nesta glowed under her mother’s praise. “Alright my Lady, what were you so keen on reading?” The better question was what wasn’t she keen on reading. Nesta went through books so quickly there was a real risk of running out of new ones in their library. But she answered with the current one she had. 

“Lord Raimie’s Song for Love and Country,” she smiled. The book was a vivid love story about a knight and a princess and the great war. But the action isn’t what had captivated Nesta so. 

Her mother raised an eyebrow, “and where exactly did you get  _ that  _ book?” 

“Dad brought it back for me!” He had seen many young ladies reading it around the port city, and thought his bibliophile daughter might appreciate a new book.    
  


“I’ll talk to him about that later,” the door opened behind them. “Speak of the high lord” 

“You fired Madame Cartright?” the Prince of Merchants asked, voice raising a little. 

“Go ask a maid to put salve on your face,” she kissed her daughter on the head and lightly patted her on the back to get her to leave. When Nesta closed the door behind her, she spoke again. “Michelle took it upon herself to mark your daughter’s face.” 

“And who exactly, is going to teach those daughters, now? You?” 

“Maybe, at least I won’t buy them  _ smut _ ,” she raised her voice, the strain irritating a tumor in her throat. Nesta hated these noises more than anything. The tearing of her cough, the scrape of a bottle across the night stand, the pop of the cork, the glug of pouring, the thud of an empty cup. It meant her mother was going away. Becoming that other person. She ran back to her room, through the window, up to the roof, where  _ that  _ mother couldn’t find her. 

* * *

She left out the details about the trees and the smut and the alcoholism, but Nesta explained how she got her governess fired and was praised for it. 

“And how old were you?” Graysen asked. 

“Oh I must have been about 9.”

That got a round of applause from the Rutlands, and a look of concern from Graysen. But he didn’t say anything else, dealing the next hand. 

When she won the round, Elain asked Maria why she started playing the harp, giving Nesta a break from the spotlight. The answer was longer than Nesta’s story. The next hand, she asked if Tabitha had any hobbies of her own. 

“Painting,” she answered. 

“Oh, Nesta paints, right?” Elain asked. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes. No doubt Elain absolutely knew Tabitha paints. In truth, Nesta hadn’t painted since Feyre left. She had only done it to spend time with her sister, and after she left, it was too painful to try on her own. 

“I learned, but I’m not very good at it.” 

Nesta dealt this hand, praying it would be the last. And it was. Elain gave her a softball question. “Who’s gift do you want to open first?”    
  


“Yours, of course,” Nesta answered. 

Tabitha got Nesta a pair of lace gloves.  _ Bitch.  _ Maria really had only gotten her the ability to request any song for the day and absolutely nothing else. Elain bought her a small iron and crystal diadem. It was fairly modest as far as crowns go, and it would fit perfectly in her usual coronet of hair. There was a note in the box with the crown. 

_ You are a queen, too.  _

Nesta smiled and breathed out, reaching for her sister’s hand, giving it a good squeeze. For as thoughtful as Elain’s gift was, it was Graysen’s that she liked best. It wasn’t wrapped, it wasn’t even on the blanket. He ran off behind a tree to retrieve it, returning with a small ashwood sapling. 

“You seem to like these trees,” he said. 

Nesta held that sapling in her hands. A little piece of this safe space that she could take with her, that she could grow and nurture in her own home. Her thanks was more heartfelt than anyone had heard her give in a long time. 

* * *

Upon returning home, Nesta received two other gifts, both waiting in her study. The first was from her father. She didn’t get a chance to open it as the second gift was Azriel, waiting to tell her the Queens had responded. 

They’d be back in 5 days. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clare bit wasn't going to be that sexual and then it was ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I didn't want to make the fic explicit, but I like it too much to leave it out. I honestly don't know if I should up the rating to Explicit or not for that scene. Let me know what you think. I'm maintaining that this fic is so far *less* dirty than the actual series. 
> 
> More choice parenting from Mama Archeron. Papa archeron essentially bought baby Nesta a bodice ripper because he didn't check past "is popular with girls" 
> 
> I debated doing more with the interim, but at this point everyone is in a holding pattern and it would be more of the same.


	26. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queens come back.

Nesta walked past Azriel, right to her desk. She didnt bother looking at him, unsure whether or not he had made himself visible. She sat down and started going through the mail. First on her desk was a package from her father, along with a note. She set it aside and sorted through the rest of the letters. Most were from young lords and ladies, more than the usual correspondence - more well wishers, then. These joined a small pile by her father’s present. The other letters, based on their senders, had to be matters of business. She set them in front of her and reached for her letter opener. From the corner of her eye, she noted Azriel watching her, studying her, marking every movement. 

  
  


“It appears a ‘happy birthday’ is in order.”

“Oh, you speak?” He squinted at her, but before he could say anything, Nesta continued. “Are you here for my birthday or have the queens finally responded?” 

Azriel summoned a note from his shadows and set it on her desk, in the pile of business. 

“5 days.” 

Nesta read the letter. Once again, the queens would arrive at 11 on the dot, in the parlor. Nesta’s nose wrinkled. It had taken some very expensive incense to get the stench of them out of her living room.  _ Looks like I’ll need to buy more.  _

“We’ll arrive early that morning. It will be the 5 of us again.” 

“Arrive glamoured. I will only send away the staff for part of the day this time.” Nesta set down the letter. No need to waste the effort on conspicuously sending away the entire household when she could easily invent errands for everyone and keep them away for a few hours. 

“Very well,” he gave her a curt nod and turned to leave, but Nesta couldn’t resist. 

“Do you think it will work?” She asked, considering Elain’s warning, her own anxieties. The songs and epics spoke of heroes and glory, vanquishing malicious villains who committed atrocities. But she couldn’t stop seeing those atrocities, the thousands who died before the heroes arrived. Like Clare, gone before Feyre could save her. 

The Wall cannot fall. 

“It has to,” Azriel answered as he vanished into thin air. 

Not a glowing assurance, but the honest-to-Wall truth. Nesta sighed deeply, collapsing her head into the pile of letters before her. Her head was still somewhat foggy, too many mugs of mulled cider clouding her thoughts. Too many worries, too much at stake, too much. She turned to look at her father’s present without lifting her head. From the shape, the weight, there was only one thing it could be. And it was the one gift she didn’t want this year. 

She picked up his letter and looked at the outside of the envelope. The script of the address was garish in its flourishes, almost to the point of illegibility. He had posted it himself then. She sat up and opened the letter. 

> _ Nesta,  _
> 
> _ I hope this arrives in time for your birthday. I know 23 won’t seem like a special number to you, but it is to me. Because 23 years ago I was blessed with my first child, and she was smarter, fiercer, wilder, lovelier, and stronger than any other.  _
> 
> _ I am sorry that I cannot grant you the gift you requested. Even I do not have enough wealth to commission an armada of that size. You will find the present I can give you in the package enclosed. It is the first of several I owe you. _
> 
> _ With love,  _
> 
> _ Your Father _
> 
> _ P.S. I do not know if it will actually be safer than the Island, but there is a ship in Port. If war comes, find Captain Reese. He will take you and Elain to the Continent. _

Nesta closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reread the letter. The disappointment souring her tongue was a surprise. She knew he wouldn’t succeed. Even if the man wasn’t a complete failure, the ask was near impossible. 10,000 ships. To evacuate all 500,000 humans on the island along with their most essential belongings, 10,000 ships would be needed. 

She opened the package next, examining the thick book within.  _ The Hero of Humanity.  _ An epic poem, regaling the tale of the Hero Jurian, one of her old favorites, outlining the clever subterfuge of humanity. How Jurian - and humanity as a well - won the war not through great strength or magic, but through clever strategy and manipulations. The first line of the poem was long etched into her memory. 

> _ Honor belongs between fight of men, not monsters _

From the way Feyre and Morrigan told it, the Fae did not remember Jurian’s decisions kindly. She had called his rage madness, blamed it on ambition and bloodlust. Weeks later and that still soured Nesta’s taste. These allies saw themselves as saviors - and maybe they had been - but they didn’t understand. How could they? They have never been  _ powerless _ . Jurian - humanity - wasn’t motivated by ambition or bloodlust, they were motivated by desperation. The outcome of the War wasn’t between victory or defeat, it was between victory or desolation. 

Nesta dropped her head down on the desk again. She had woken up too early, drunk too much. The ever black abyss of sleep was calling to her, pulling her down, down, down. 

“Is this where you are?” Her mother’s voice floated through the air, so very far away. 

“Shh,” she felt her father’s voice rumble through his chest, to her ear. “It took 8 chapters to get her to fall asleep.” A large hand gently held the back of her head as her body slowly rocked back and forth. 

“What are you going to do when I give birth?” her mother’s delicate fingertips began combing through her hair. 

“I have two knees.” 

“And if they do not like being read to?” 

“ _ All _ my children will love being read to.” He said the words with such seriousness that her mother had to laugh. Her real laugh, soft and beautiful. 

“Come to bed.” 

“In a minute, just another minute,” the rocking continued. 

* * *

“Is there anything you’d like me to get you at the apothecary?” Jenny asked as she headed out the door. 

“I’m fine, Jenny, get your brew,” Nesta answered, ready to close the door behind her. 

“We will be back by 2pm on the dot to take you ladies to Kofolds’,” Connor bowed. 

“Don’t smudge your makeup, please.” Jenny tutted one final time, adjusting an imaginary stray strand of Nesta’s hair. 

“If you don’t leave now, you won’t be back in time,” Nesta responded, shying away from the touch. Less because she didn’t want Jenny touching her head, the woman dresses her for goodness’ sake. But the 5 fae standing 10 feet away made Nesta less than interested in allowing such a display. 

Jenny nodded and walked to Connor, who helped her into the carriage gingerly, his hand naturally going to her waist. Seeing them together was always an interesting affair. They didn’t exactly hide the nature of their relationship, but they didn’t broadcast it either. 

As soon as they were out of sight, Nesta said quietly, “That’s the last one.” Each servant had been given an errand today. Darrow and the gardeners were helping with the planting on the other side of the estate. The rest of the household staff was at the Koffold estate, assisting with wedding preparations. It was an entirely too convenient event, the perfect excuse to send most of the staff away, leaving only Jenny and Connor to get the girls ready and send them over when it was time. Nesta felt a little guilty about dropping Jenny’s contraceptive brew in the fire, but she gave them money for more. She would have to get a replacement today or it would lose its effectiveness, so she agreed to get the girls ready early, run to town with Connor and the carriage, and be back in barely enough time to get them to the ball. 

She knew that if she simply asked them to leave, they would. They had last time, no questions asked. But it wasn’t the staff’s gossip Nesta feared. Sending the staff away overnight a third time in as many months was bound to raise suspicions in other families. It was why she wanted to only send everyone away for the day today. She debated just telling them today that she wanted them to leave after getting her ready, but… the less they knew the better. Better they think it was a poorly timed accident, that the apothecary only opens in the afternoon, when they would need to be getting ready for the wedding. That Nesta was magnanimous in agreeing to be made up early. 

  
  


“It’s risky, having so many on the estate still,” Rhysand said as he looked out over the estate. 

“Riskier yet, to have unusual behavior marked by either human or fae,” Nesta replied, turning into the house. The rest followed. Elain was waiting inside with tea. Nesta accepted a cup and took her seat at the head of the room, finally allowing herself to look over the guests. They were dressed as well as they were last time, the men appearing to wear the same clothes even. Morrigan was wearing the same style of revealing dress, only in dark teal instead of striking red. The red looked better. 

Feyre’s dress was… interesting. The fabric had been dyed in such a way that the colors transitioned and faded into one another. White at her shoulders, then pink, then red, then purple, then black. White crystals were sewn into the skirt. A sunset, Nesta realized. She was dressed as the beginning of the night. 

Nesta sipped her tea, feeling the tension in the room. There was no confidence, no quiet dignity in their silence. Rhysand’s darkness pulsed through the room brushing against surfaces, and Feyre, but pulling back from touching anyone else. Nesta studied her sister, too, and noted something different. Her own power was pulsing as well, covering and mingling with the Night Lord’s. It was so light, it was translucent, with no feeling to it, no impression. She could only see it was there because of how Rhysand’s power reacted to it. 

The study of that power distracted Nesta from a certain bat’s approach. 

“Good morning Nesta,” Cassian smiled. He was the only one of the party to do so, and even without knowing him  _ that _ well, Nesta could tell it was false. The braggadocio usually thriving in his voice was strained, forced. He was as nervous as the rest of them. 

“Good morning Cassian,” Elain responded. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes, thank you for the kind offer  _ Elain _ ,” he shot a look back to Nesta as he said her sister’s name. 

Elain seemed willfully oblivious to his behavior as she spoke to the rest of the party. “Please, have some.” She started pouring cups and handing them out. Each guest took one and finally sat down. The tension was still there, but having something to hold and stir at least gave them something to do with their hands. 

“How is the wedding planning going?” Morrigan asked. That was most certainly the last thing Nesta thought she’d ever hear Morrigan of the Truth ask, especially at a time like this. But Elain smiled at her. 

“Very well, thank you. It’s been a lot easier than I thought it would be, Graysen’s actually been a big help.” They continued making idle chatter about the wedding, the decor, the food, the color scheme. Nesta couldn’t tell if they were feigning interest or choosing to focus on this topic to forget whatever was in the box Morrigan carried. “I’m just worried my father won’t be back in time.” 

“He won’t miss it,” Feyre assured her. Nesta held her tongue. The old bastard has never once done his duty to his family, she highly doubted he would start now. Whatever she was thinking must have shown on her face, because when she looked up from her tea, Cassian was staring at her again. 

“Your family will absolutely want to be there to celebrate with you.” The sentence was loaded, and no one missed the implications. Feyre would not be welcome at the wedding. Elain blushed, slight panic seeping into her expression. 

“It’s almost time,” Nesta stood, cutting off this topic, “whatever preparations you want to do before they arrive, I suggest you do them now.”

There wasn’t much in the way of preparation to be had, but they did reposition themselves. Nesta and Elain against the far wall, between Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand, Morrigan, and Feyre stood behind the couch, watching the area the queens had appeared last time. Nesta focused on the clock on the mantle, watching each second get closer, taking a deep breath right as it struck 11. 

__

Only two queens arrived this time, but the smell was somehow worse. The lioness of Elbe and the old badger of Bremerhaven stood on the opposite side of the room, studying all of them. With a sneer at the diadem Nesta wore, the coot took a seat before anyone so much as greeted her. The younger queen, however, noted the joined hands of Feyre and Rhysand, and smiled before she took her seat. 

“We appreciate you taking the time to see us again,” Rhysand began, his magnanimous words horribly betrayed by both his lack of a bow or subservient tone. 

The old badger kept staring at Nesta’s crown, offended by its presence, its reminder that she had no power over this island. “After being so gravely offended last time, we debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult unforgivable.”  _ And this one more so _ , her expression added.

“If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I’d say you’re all in for quite a shock when war comes.” Both Nesta and the younger queen broke a small grin at Feyre’s retort. 

“So he won your heart after all, Curse-breaker.” There was a sense of approval in her tone that surprised Nesta, but seemed to relax Feyre.  _ Trap. That’s a trap.  _

Rhysand and Feyre took a seat as Feyre spoke again. “I do not think that it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our two peoples.”  _ The Cauldron? Feyre, since when do you invoke the Cauldron?  _

“The Cauldron?” The lioness asked with the same incredulous tone Nesta thought it with. “And two peoples?” Ah, she had her prey. “ _ Our _ people do not invoke a Cauldron;  _ our  _ people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is  _ your  _ people,” she looked to Feyre, and then looked up to Elain and Nesta, “And ours. _ You  _ are little better than those Children of the Blessed.” She turned her attention back to the fae in the room. “What  _ does _ happen to them when they cross the wall? Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such a pity…” she flitted her gaze to Elain and Nesta before going back to their newly immortal sister. “So unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged for. Immortality, eternal youth… What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged while he did not?” 

“Is there a point to you questions, other than to hear yourself talk?” Either Rhysand wanted her to say it outright, or just wanted her to shut up. But he had to realize, though she invoked him, the words were not about him and Feyre. The lioness wanted to divide the sisters, poke at the truth that Feyre would outlive them by millennia. On a different family, it might have worked. Feyre had been made other - different from them - but then she always had been. As for the jealousy the queen implied, Nesta had no interest in eternity. One lifetime already felt much too long. 

“Is that the proof we asked for?” The old queen pointed to the box Morrigan held. 

“Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters’ presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sister’s finger - and yet she stands with us.” There was a panic in Feyre’s tone. Whatever proof they had to give they absolutely did not want to. 

“I would say that is proof of her idiocy, to be engaged to a Fae-hating man… and to risk the match by associating with you.”

“Do not judge what you know  _ nothing  _ about.” Nesta was quick to jump in. These queens, did their long years of peace erase the memories of their own peoples’ histories? Did their years of comfort and power blind them to nobility of the risk Elain was taking? 

“The viper speaks again,” she ignored Nesta, taking the slip of control as a victory. “Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.”  _ Old bitch.  _

“She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings. She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do.” The lioness wanted to speak again, clearly, but she was interrupted by the crone. 

“Show us then. Prove us wrong.” 

Morrigan opened the box and didn’t even need to announce it before Nesta knew what it was, the only thing it could be. The Veritas, the item used by Morrigan of the Truth to show the High Lords the horror of their atrocities against humanity, the breadth of their wickedness, the eventual price of their actions if they did not concede. According to legend, it was the reason the Treaty was signed in the first place. 

“You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that you may trust the Book in our hands?” The Veritas began to light up on the floor, glowing brighter and brighter, creating a wall of white light. “There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself.” The white light solidified into clouds of mist, turning into a model of the city with impossible detail. Perspective shifted, flying in from above, through block after block of tall buildings, happy people, working artists, laughing children. Nesta was dumbfounded, taking in the largest city she’d ever seen. 

“That is Velaris. For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the War- only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne, and ensured everyone heard legends about it. But if the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it.” 

The queens kept staring at the Veritas. But Nesta had turned her attention to Rhysand, burning with awe and rage and gratitude and vicious hatred. That. That is why he killed Clare. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to burn that city to the ground. She wanted to fall to her knees in front of him. She wanted to thank him for sacrificing that city’s safety for her sister’s family. But more than all of that. She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to command him to take her to that beautiful city, that he let her see first hand what Clare died to protect. 

“We will consider.” 

With those three words, the torrent of emotion within Nesta settled into nothingness. Disappointment coiled around her like a snake, constricting her throat, strangling all hope, just as it had for 8 years. 

“Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?” Rhysand’s voice was all disbelief and shock. His darkness seemed to still, holding a careful tension. “You need this alliance as much as we do.” 

The queen could not have cared less about his exasperation. “Did you think we would be moved by your letter, your plea?” She took a letter from the guard next to her. Nesta recognized it immediately. Cassian had left it with her that night. She unfolded it slowly, then cleared her throat. “I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people- to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world.” 

Nesta watched the High Lord as the letter was read. None of its contents surprised her. He loved her sister, that much was clear from the moment she met him. He wore it plainly. If anything, Nesta was impressed with the arrogance of that love. How much he believed their love would be the balm to heal the wounds his kind inflicted on hers. Naive. Goodness knows how many years he walked this Earth, and he was still so fucking naive. 

“A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord as crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan.” 

The words pulled Nesta out of her critique of Rhysand. It was bald, if stupid, accusation to make. They didn’t need to lie, they didn’t need to manipulate, the Fae could simply obliterate them. Did they really not understand? There was only one decision to make. 

“This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid  _ fools.”  _ Nesta charged forward, ignoring Elain’s feeble attempt to stop her. Jenny. Connor. Greysan. “Give them the Book.” Isaac. Rebekah. Jacob. Abe. Lionel. Tabitha Fucking Rutland. “Give. Them. the Book.” Henry. Victoria. Darrow. Mrs. Cowell. Mrs. Laurent. 

“No.” 

They would sentence them all to die with one fucking syllable. The storm in Nesta focused into a blade, the only weapon she knew how to weild. 

“There are innocent people here, in these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book.”

  
“An evacuation may be possible-” 

“You would need ten thousand ships. You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us.” Her voice was breaking, but she held it together, she got through her logic. Her father couldn’t raise the forces. These queens won’t spare them. This was their only option. This could not fail. “We are stranded here.” 

“Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl.” 

Nesta wanted to kill her. She was old, frail, gouging her eyes out couldn’t be that hard. But. If she killed the bitch, they’d never get the Book. Nesta swallowed her rage and tried something new.    
  


“Please.” the word felt like knives on her tongue. “Please. Do not leave us to face this alone.” 

That old cunt just looked down her nose at Nesta. No feeling, no compassion, nothing. Just icy imperial coldness. 

_ Are you an animal? Then why are you bleating like one? _

This was the one thing. The one thing she was trained to do, the one thing she could have possibly done to help, and she failed. Everyone was going to die, turned to ash and bone. Like Clare. She felt hot tears fall down her cheeks and suddenly she was a child again, cowering in front of a pitiless mother. She felt someone loom over her, and looked up, half expecting Madame Cartright’s hard voice telling her the tears would ruin her face. But it wasn’t.

It was Cassian. 

“Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

His words were a vow, deep and solemn. And the look on his face. It was so gentle, so accepting, so foriegn. Nesta felt herself yield to his touch as he wiped away a tear. His finger lingered on her cheek as they looked at each other. No one else was there. The thrum of lightning passed between the two, not soothing the torrent of emotions, but strengthening her ability to weather them. It was… magical. 

Nesta turned away before she lost control and embraced him. 

The golden queen gave her an indecipherable look as she and her companion stood to leave. Before Nesta could feel any embarrassment over what the others witnessed, Morrigan was badgering them again. 

“Is it a sum you’re after? Name your price, then.” 

The answer was at first a snort, then a dismissal. “We have all the riches we need. We will now return to our palace to deliberate with our sisters.” 

“You’re already going to say no.”  _ They were always going to say no.  _

Nesta turned back to Elain as they vanished, unsure what to say to her sister. But she was not looking at Nesta. She was looking under the chair where the queen sat, at a black iron box with quiet hope. 

Rhysand picked it up, and when he opened the box, Nesta wished at once he would shut the damn thing. 

_ Hello. Good bye. I missed you. Use me. Love me. I love you.  _ **_My_ ** _ favorite.  _

Nesta had felt this sickening power once before. The Wall had spoken to her like this, had called to her like this. She felt a thrum from Cassian as he stood closer to her again. But it was nothing to this  _ pull _ . This wanted to use her as much as it wanted to be used. It was dark and dangerous and she wanted to run from it and to it at the same time. 

_ Fucking fae magic bullshit.  _

Rhysand picked up the Book and Nesta nearly snarled a laugher at how it quivered in disgust at his grip. He was not the one it wanted. Good. Let it suffer in his keeping. She almost missed his offer to take them to safety. 

“It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us. You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation. Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I’d suggest packing now.”

Nesta knew her answer. She wanted to see the city Clare had unwittingly died for, but… she could not abandon the people here. With the book, there was a chance, a real motherfucking chance, that war would not come here. At least not more than it had. Her estate could survive, its people could survive, and if there was an honest chance, she owed it to them to stay. 

_ No. no. Come with me. Use me. Love me.  _

She ignored the Book’s pleas and turned to Elain. She did not look half so certain as Nesta felt, eying Feyre and Nesta in turn as she fumbled with the ring on her finger. Nesta knew this look, this was what Elain did when she thought she was about to disagree with her sisters and didn’t know how to tell them. 

“It is your choice,” Nesta reminded her, willing her to speak her own thoughts. Nesta was resolved to stay, but Elain could go. Nesta would smooth things over with the Edessa’s. Maybe she’d give them the dowry anyway. 

“I-I can’t,” Elain looked at Feyre as she said the words. Feyre looked hurt, rejected, but she didn’t say anything. Rhysand nodded. 

“The sentries will be here, and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you.”

Nesta saw Cassian’s little nod, and turned to Rhysand again. The fucker was sincere. There was no doubt he still didn’t like her, would never like her, and she would certainly never like him, but… she was Feyre’s sister. And Feyre was his family now, so Nesta was, too. 

“That’s why you painted stars on your drawer.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another update! 
> 
> I really like playing with the perception differences between Nesta and Feyre. 
> 
> If you have the books, reread what the Book says to Feyre here. It's very interesting. :) 
> 
> Leave comments or whatever, I really like them. 
> 
> Find me on twitter or tumblr at Saphie3243.


	27. Graves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Elain celebrate the Book's safe retrieval

The sisters stood in silence for several long minutes after everyone left. Both seemed frazzled, exhausted. And they still had a wedding to go to. 

“Clean up then whiskey, or whiskey then clean up?”

“Whiskey first,” Elain breathed. Nesta nodded and went to the drink cart, pouring two fingers for each of them. They clinked glasses and slammed down the alcohol, feeling the burn, letting it take the edge off. Nesta considered her empty glass, whether she needed a second drink, when Elain blurted out, “I’m sorry if you wanted to go.” 

Nesta didn’t need to look at her sister to know what she looked like. Elain’s “I’m sorry” face was always the same. All big eyes and adorable pouting that made it impossible to stay mad at her even if she  _ was  _ in the wrong. 

“I was never going to go to that city,” Nesta huffed, placing the tumbler down. 

“But, you and Cassian-” 

“Are nothing,” Nesta completed, walking to gather untouched tea from the coffee table. No way was she going to talk about this, about that moment, about the earlier one in her bedroom. Absolutely no damn way. 

After a pregnant pause, Elain said, “Nesta, we all saw it.” 

“Then you all saw that it was nothing.” 

Elain took a breath like she was going to respond again but only sighed deeply, muttering something under her breath. She assisted in loading up a tray with teacups and saucers in silence. When they had all the evidence of the meeting removed from the parlor, they started rising cups in the kitchen. Nesta decided to ask a relatively safe question, hoping her sister wouldn’t try to use it as an opening to bring up Cassian again. 

“When did you realize the golden queen was on our side?” 

“When she smiled at your crown,” Elain answered. “It gave me a good feeling,” she paused for a moment before elaborating further, “It was the same smile you get when Feyre parries your jabs, amusement  _ and  _ respect. The feeling was confirmed when I noticed her dropping the book...,” Elain paused for a moment. “I don’t like that Book.” 

“Me neither,” Nesta huffed. Elain gave Nesta a grave expression.

“Nesta. It spoke to me.” Nesta was a little surprised to hear that, but not terribly so. That Book was unhinged. It wanted to be used. While the Wall seemed to only wish to speak to her, the Book probably spoke to everyone.

“Me, too.” 

Elain was momentarily surprised as well, but seemed to reach a similar conclusion to Nesta. “What did it say?” 

“Utter nonsense,” Nesta dismissed. 

“It told me I was weak.” 

“It told me it loved me.” 

“Yuck, that’s worse!” Nesta nodded, wiping a cup dry. Elain considered for a moment. “But it’s in their hands now. It’s done.” Nesta nodded again. “It still... it still feels like there is a storm coming.” 

“There is. But it’s not coming tonight,” Nesta assured her. “We had a victory today, and a big one. We should celebrate that.” 

“Get sloshed at the Koffold wedding?” Elain asked with a smile. 

“They took our staff for the day, we can take their champagne.” 

* * *

The wedding was... fun, actually. Mostly because Nesta was too drunk to care about decorum, spending the entire night trading barbs with Tabitha. Elain, damn her, had actually succeeded on her birthday, granting Nesta a tentative acquaintance, not quite friendship, but the possibility was definitely there. The relief of having the Book safely delivered, along with the surprisingly fun mental volleys with Tabitha let Nesta forget herself, indulging in feeling both lighter and light-headed.

Nesta, however, had nothing on Elain and Graysen’s level of drunkenness. Apparently they had created a drinking game, “The Nestitha Game”. Take a sip everytime one of the girls says something mean, two sips if it is an unwarranted retort, three if it’s a backhanded compliment, finish your drink if they make someone cry. 

In rare form, they made 10 people cry. 

Perhaps it was a little presumptuous to celebrate that much. There was still a war brewing. Getting the Book was only step one. But it was a key victory, and it was a cause to celebrate, dammit. Sure, there were now two fae flapping around her property at all hours of the day, making camp in her garden. But better two of Rhysand’s goons than an army of Hybern’s. 

The alcohol, the good news, it was nice. It was… relaxing. Nesta laid back in her bed, stripped of makeup, jewelry, chemises, and worry. She turned her head and studied the ashwood sapling sitting on her bedside table. She smiled at it, breathing in the fresh air it brought into her room. She hadn’t had a nightmare since she brought it home. It was a nice break. A little relaxation. A little celebration. 

_ Another little harmless indulgence would be ok tonight, right?  _

Of course right. 

Nesta closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back to her old reliable fantasy, snaking a hand down the covers, hiking up the skirt of her shift. No need to work out a full fantasy tonight. She was too tired and too drunk for that. The main course was all she needed tonight. 

The knight, kissing her hand, her cheek, her neck, her breast, her stomach. Looking up at her with those sure hazel eyes as he whispered sweet devotions to her. Cassian smiled at her as his hand floated over her sex.

Nesta froze her ministrations, startling herself out of the fantasy. 

_ Excuse me,  _ **_Cassian_ ** _?  _

No. no 

Absolutely Not.

Nesta pulled her hand back to the top of the covers, and stared at it. She didn’t know how. But this was definitely this hand’s fault. She didn’t actually think of Cassian that way. She had locked that desire deep down somewhere, smothered it with layers and layers of contempt. 

Sure, he had vowed to fight for her, protect her home and people. And sure it was almost exactly like the romantic declarations of the romance novels she read as a girl. But it didn’t  _ mean _ anything. He was just a very large fae brute with very large, gentle hands that felt equally comforting and arousing. 

_ No.  _

_ Stop it, Nesta. You’re drunk.  _

_You had a love. One. That’s what you get. If you are going to let your sister marry your lady love’s murderer, then the least you can do is remain faithful to that lady._   
  
It wasn’t the tension. Nesta had already compartmentalized Cassian’s ability to rile her up that way. He’s a very attractive fae. It was just a physical attraction. Nothing real. Hot. But not substantive. Besides, Nesta hadn’t ever been with Clare that way, or anyone else for that matter, she was ill-equipped to turn herself off. 

But today wasn’t... sexual. When Cassian touched her, she didn’t start picturing his hands and mouth all over her body. She just wanted to be held. She wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her close. And they way he looked at her. She could live on that look, she was pretty sure. She wanted to talk to him, laugh with him, spend time with him. She wanted to be his friend as much as his lover.

And that, more than anything else, would betray Clare’s memory.    
  


* * *

Elain and Nesta were dead the next day. 

No wait, the dead don’t have headaches like this. They probably aren’t nauseous, either. 

Nesta had never regretted her propensity to sleep with the curtains open more. The morning sun woke her at the ass crack of dawn and all she wanted to do was destroy the damn thing. That or close the curtains. But with the pounding in her head, closing the curtains herself seemed as difficult as extinguishing the sun. She could ring her bell, call in Jenny, but the mere thought of the ringing felt like torture. Pulling the covers over her head would have to do for now. 

Light knocks rapped on her door and they might as well have been pounding steel. 

“WHAT?” 

The door opened with no more fuss, and Nesta didn’t need to look to know it was Jenny entered with a cart of what was supposed to be delicious-smelling food. But at the moment, it only served to turn Nesta’s stomach. 

“I brought breakfast, milady.” 

“Not hungry,” she mumbled.

“Yes you are, the hunger is just buried under a thousand layers of nausea,” Jenny sighed and changed her tone to taunting. “I brought willowbark tea.” 

Nesta grunted. 

“But you have to come out from under the covers to drink it.” Nesta grunted louder. “A little pain now to stop a whole lot of pain later.” Nesta threw back the covers with a glare, blinking against the sunlight. Jenny laughed.  _ Laughed _ . That bitch. But she was true to her word and walked over with the blessed cup. She helped Nesta sit up and watched as she drank the tea. 

“Good, now,” she walked back over to the cart and opened the cover. Fresh warm croissants, and piping hot eggs, and a glass of a thick red liquid. “Food. Croissants to soak up the alcohol, eggs for strength, and surfeit water for your stomach.” 

“I’ll just stick to the tea, thanks”

Jenny ignored her and set down the breakfast tray next to her on the bed. She went to the closet and pulled out a dress, hanging it on the door before taking a seat at Nesta’s writing desk. 

  
“What are you doing?”

Jenny inspected her nails. “Waiting for you to finish breakfast. I figure it’ll take a while, so I’ll wait for you to actually start eating before I draw the bath.” 

Nesta took a single bite of the croissant. “You’ve gotten too comfortable with me.” 

* * *

Nesta ended up not getting out of her room until nearly noon. From the noises down the hall, Elain was in a similar state. Even with the willowbark, she wasn’t feeling up to working, but she could hold up in the study undisturbed for the majority of the day, keep the sun away. 

“Do you think they’ll want to leave?” 

“I doubt they will even get out of bed in time.” 

_ Unnoticed, my ass. _

When Rhysand said the fae guards would go unnoticed, she thought they would be like Azriel. More or less stealthy as well as being glamored. Unfortunately, they took the Cassian-approach. Just walk around in plain sight and depend on magic to keep their asses hidden and their voices down. At least she didn’t need to worry about whether anyone ever figured out that she could see them.

But whatever annoyance Nesta felt at the bats standing in her parlor was quickly drowned out by an overwhelming sense of nausea. She had forgotten to burn the incense, and the stench of seaweed and rust had remained stagnant in her parlor. Nesta ran to the nearest vase and upturned her breakfast. 

“Cauldron boil me, what did she eat?” 

“Oh I do not want to winnow with that one.” 

_ Just a little mutilation would be ok, right? _

“Should we check on her?” 

“Lord Cassian said not to touch them unless it was an attack.” 

“So what do we -” 

“Lady Nesta!” Henry came running up to her, taking hold of the vase and placing a hand on her shoulder. He led her into the parlor, to a couch. She sat down, feeling only more nauseous in the room. Normally she could hide the disgust, but the hangover had weakened her stomach. 

She asked for the incense in between retches, losing all of the breakfast Jenny had made her eat. Once it was lit, masking the smell of those vile queens, she steadied her breathing. As she calmed down, the fae males stood over her, watching with equal parts curiosity and disgust, discussing why they were stuck here. They ultimately decided that they had pissed off Cassian quite a bit, to be stuck babysitting this mess. 

_ I’m going to  _ **_destroy_ ** _ him for leaving these clowns here.  _

* * *

The two sentries mostly stayed outside the house, with exception to the twice daily parlor stays. They just flapped around the house, making so much noise Nesta wanted to throw rocks at them. If Elain or Nesta left to go on errands, or visit anyone, they would follow. They maintained some distance from their charges, but it didn’t stop Nesta from feeling like a prisoner in her own home. 

After an entire day holed up hungover in her house, watched by those fae, she was feeling more than a little claustrophobic. Elain was, too. But where Elain found working in her garden to be sufficient freedom, Nesta felt a walk was in order. A good and long one. She hadn’t really gone on one of her extended walks since Elain’s ankle had healed, and now was as good a time as any. 

The weather was perfect, light warmth as the wind brushed her skirts with fresh spring air. The flowers had bloomed in the garden, in the trees. There was color everywhere. The only thing maring the beautiful spring day was the damn bat flying overhead. 

But the forest was thick with life, and she could pretend it wasn’t there if she just kept to the trees. With each step the flapping got further and further away. The pollen hung in the air, dusting her hair and clothes with light greens and yellows. Mud clung to her shoes and tracked up her gown. She really had no destination in mind, just letting her feet take her where they wanted to go. 

And when she finally reached the edge of the forest and saw past the trees, she found herself in the place where her walks always ended up anyway. Thanks to the thick cover of trees and the winding path to get here, she actually got closer to Clare’s house than she ever had before. Closer than she had been since before her abduction. 

The roof of the house had caved in; some of the walls had collapsed as well. But the frame of the house was still there, blackened by the fire. The front door was ajar, and inside, the walls, the furniture that maintained its shape, it was all burnt black as well. Only bones and ash remained of the Beddors, of their home. And yet... 

This house was far from dead. 

Ivy winded its way up the walls, overflowing from the windows. Soft pink, blue, and yellow flowers bloomed from the ivy. Small animals ran inside the house and around. In the highest remaining wall, a family of birds had made a nest. 

There was no trace of the Beddor family left but the home they once lived in. A home now a safe haven for new life. It was tragic, it was beautiful, it hurt to look at, and Nesta couldn’t look away. 

So much had changed in less than a year. 

Clare had died. Her family died. Her house destroyed. Nesta had kept the deed to the land in a drawer in her study, had avoided coming here. She never wanted to see this. She didn’t want to confront this feeling, this finality. 

But it was time. 

Clare was dead. 

  
Nesta watched life run and jump around the Beddor house for hours. It wasn’t until the sun started setting that she finally found the motivation to return home. Each step away from the house was another lock sealed over her feelings and memories of Clare. No, she wouldn’t do anything with this land. She would not change a single thing. This was Clare’s grave, and she would leave it as it is. 

* * *

Nesta made it back to the house right as night fell across her land. Noting for the first time that she hadn’t been disturbed by the flapping of bat wings, or the chatter of fae soldiers. Had they finally learned to be stealthy? 

Nesta heard the sound of chatter through the front door. Odd, since they weren’t expecting anybody today. 

“So when’s the wedding?” Nesta didn’t recognize the voice. It was clearly a woman’s. 

“End of summer,” Nesta could hear Elain’s smile in her voice. She opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Oh a summer wedding! How exciting!” Nesta didn’t need to be in the room with the stranger to hear the fake emotion in her voice. 

“Sounds like Nesta is home.” 

Nesta heard the last party speak as she stepped in the room. She knew that voice. It appeared in so many of her nightmares. It was burned into the memories of that night along with the pain of being constricted by countless vines. 

Nesta looked into the parlor, finding Elain sitting on a couch with some strange blonde High Fae. Azalea was sitting across from them, its vines spread across the entire couch and floor, filling the entire room. Flowers bloomed on the vines, releasing pollen that filled the air. In the windows, were the two Illyrians, hanged by similar vines, impaled by them, their blood splattered on the glass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	28. Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta has a bit of a tense reunion with Azalea and makes a new friend*  
> *enemy

“Who are your new friends, Elain?” Nesta asked, trying with all her might to keep the fear from her voice. 

“This is Ianthe and Eric, they have news of father,” Elain answered, gesturing to the female next to her and Azalea across from her. But Nesta could barely register the words, too distracted by the flowers blooming on the wall. 

> ACT NATURAL 

“What- what news is that?” Nesta asked. The female, Ianthe, bounced up and over to her. Pointed ears peeked through long wavy locks that floated down over her rather small bosom. She was wearing too much makeup, her dress was too tight, nails too long. Fake. Months with sycophantic socialites and this woman was the fakest person she’d ever met. 

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Ianthe reached out to grab Nesta’s hand. Nesta retreated out of reach. She watched as annoyance crossed the Fae’s face before it was once again schooled into an artificial smile. 

Azalea laughed, drawing attention to itself. “Not everyone is a hugger, Ianthe.” Ianthe glared at it and turned back to Nesta. 

“Apologies, your father has told me so much about you. He misses you so much, both of you,” Ianthe glanced back at Elain. Nesta didn’t respond, waiting for whatever this fae said next. “Right, I’ll come out and say it, then. Your father sent us to come get you. We’re to take you to him.” 

_ Bull and shit  _

“He sent for us?” Elain asked, surprised. “He knows I am to get married, I can’t just leave.” 

Ianthe shot Azalea another look, the pollen shifted, and Elain’s eyes glazed over. “I suppose if we are back in time for the wedding, it would be good to see him.” 

Nesta clenched her fist behind her skirt.  _ What do I do? What do I do?  _

“What do you think, Nesta? Wouldn’t it be good to see him?” Elain asked, looking at her sister but not really seeing anything. 

Azalea’s flowers spelled out a new message. 

JUST SAY YES 

“Not really, it’s been nice without the bastard,” Nesta answered. The flower’s message changed again. 

IDIOT 

“My Lady, dinner is ready. Will your guests be joining you?” Henry asked from the doorway. Nesta immediately noted the vines wrapped around his throat, tightening ever so slightly as she studied them. 

The flowers on the wall spelled out new words, now. 

YES. ALL OF THEM. 

“I’d have to ask them,” Nesta turned to the guests, but found herself pausing on the corpses of the Illyrian soldiers hanging in her window. She felt nauseous all over again, and couldn’t find the words to invite these monsters for dinner. 

“I’d love dinner!” Ianthe stood and walked to the dining room without being led there. Elain followed close behind. Azalea extended an “arm” to Nesta. When she hesitated, it spoke softly. 

“Take it.” Nesta studied Azalea, its face, its eyes. She had nearly forgotten how unsettling it was. And for the first time, she realized exactly how much at its mercy her family had been. Nesta took it’s “arm”. It pulled her in close as they walked, whispering softly into her ear. “Play along and everyone might survive.” 

_ Yeah right, play along and have her home end up like the Beddor House.  _

They sat at the table, Nesta at the head, Elain to her right, Ianthe to her left, and Azalea on the other side of Elain. Not where she wanted it to be, but she couldn’t make a scene, and she didn’t know if Ianthe was worse. The butlers served them the salad course. True to Azalea’s warning, each one had vines wrapped around their necks. As they were done, they took up their stations around the room. 

Ianthe took a sip of wine. “Ooh, delicious.” Putting the glass down, she decided to continue the previous conversation. “You see, we need you to come with us. It is just too dangerous here. Coming with us is really the safest option.” As she said the words, Elain nodded along, her eyes fully glazed over. There was pollen on her dress, in her hair, dusting her face. How long? How long was she sitting in that room with them? 

Nesta needed to play this very, very carefully. Whatever their reason for trying to get the girls to come willingly, she needed to use it to her advantage. She needed to stall, on the chance that the guards had to check in regularly, that Cassian might come to see why they hadn’t. 

“It was dangerous when he left, too. Why wait until now, until Elain’s wedding is right around the corner?” She leveled a stare at Ianthe. Not a no, but not a yes, an acknowledgement of what she had to agree to, but not an agreement. 

“She has a few months yet,” Ianthe countered, a smirk playing on her lips. 

“And that’s when we’re busiest with planning,” Nesta argued. 

“She’s aware how much work goes into a wedding,” Azalea cut in, sparing a direct look at Nesta. She swallowed, glancing around the room. The butlers still stood there, unmoving. Unusual for Lionel. He liked to interject whenever Nesta argued with her dinner guests. From the way they stood there, completely still, faces expressionless, Nesta assumed they were glamoured. 

She swallowed. “What changed between his leaving and now?” she asked. Ianthe sighed. 

“You really are stubborn. Much more stubborn than your sister.” Ianthe took a bite of salad and continued. She nodded to Azalea, who focused in on Nesta for a long moment. 

“Come with us to see your father. Tell your staff that is where you are going and send word to the Edessa’s.” The pollen puffed again. 

Nesta nodded and rolled her eyes. “And if I say no?” Azalea made some indecipherable noise while Ianthe looked genuinely surprised. Surprised, but not displeased. An unpleasant bark of laughter leapt from her mouth. 

“So it’s true then. You cannot be glamored. I barely believed Feyre when she told me, but Mother, the way you’ve been looking at us all night, the way you respond, were you even aware when we were  _ trying  _ to glamour you?” 

Nesta froze. “When  _ Feyre  _ told you?” 

“Oh, she and I were quite close for a while there, before she decided to run away to Rhysand,” Ianthe rolled her eyes. “But you, oh Rhysand made a mistake letting you stay here virtually unprotected.” 

“What do you want?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I want to take you with me, of course,” she took another sip of her wine. “You’ll forgive the theatrics, I just wanted to see your immunity up close.” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Nesta spat the words, putting every negative thought and insult in her voice as she said “you.”    
  


“You still don’t get it?” Ianthe snapped her perfectly manicured fingers at Azalea. It nodded and the vines on its body began writhing. The butlers around the room all started wheezing, coughing and reaching for their necks. 

“Stop it!” Nesta ordered, losing composure. Ianthe nodded to Azalea, whose writhing stopped. Henry and the others took in deep breaths, panic entering their expressions as the fog cleared from their eyes and they took in the scene for what it truly was. Before they could say anything the vines from their necks expanded and coiled around their head, acting as a gag.

Ianthe clapped her hands. “You were right Azalea, she does care about the  _ help. _ Oh how fun!” She started rapping her fingers on the table as she smiled at Nesta. “There are two ways this goes, Nesta Archeron. One, you go upstairs, pack your things, leave a note for anyone who might be worried, and the four of us leave, no fuss, no muss. Or Two, only three of us leave and I have Azalea here stay behind and kill every single one of you servants.”

Nesta took a breath, considering her options. She absolutely couldn’t allow Elain to get taken, but she had over a dozen people here in the house, all in danger. Her biggest advantage had been taken from her. She still couldn’t be glamoured, yes, but that means very little if they know not to even try. The only other weapon she had wasn’t here. It was upstairs. 

“I’ll go with you, willingly,” Nesta finally conceded. 

“Oh very good, you’re being reasonable. Go pack now please. Elain, you can have a servant pack for you, you’ve been so sweet.” She smiled at Elain and Nesta wanted to rip off her lips. “You,” Ianthe snapped her fingers at Henry, “bring me the second course while she packs.” Nesta looked to him and nodded. Henry swallowed and awkwardly walked over to collect the plate. Nesta stood up and walked to Elain, placing one hand around the side of her neck and kissing her cheek before walking upstairs. 

Nesta passed the other staff on her way up, all on their way to the dining room, all looking terrified. Jenny tried to reach out to her, but Nesta pulled away. When she got to her room, she closed the door behind her. First thing, she stalked over to her bedside table where her ashwood sapling had been left alone, thank the Wall. She broke off a branch, it was small, but strong and jagged. Good, she had her second weapon now. 

Nesta pulled out a trunk and threw a bunch of nonsense in it. No way she would actually be allowed to use anything in it. If things went well, it wouldn’t leave the house. If it went poorly, well she’d probably end up a prisoner, separated from her belongings. They wanted this for appearances, to make it seem like she had really gone to stay with her father. She wasn’t entirely sure what the end game was here, but the word hostage seemed appropriate. She hid the makeshift dagger in her sleeve and clicked the trunk closed.    
  


_ We tried it your way, mother. Now let’s try Feyre’s.  _

Nesta walked back downstairs, passing Mrs. Laurent with Elain’s trunk. Nesta held her arm to her heart and walked into the dining room. They had moved onto the last course.

“Are you done?” Ianthe asked, taking a bite of pudding. Nesta slammed the trunk down on the table next to her. While the shock of the noise still colored Ianthe’s face, Nesta dropped the dagger from her sleeve and turned to thrust it into her heart with as much speed and power she could muster. 

And it wasn’t enough. 

Ianthe held Nesta’s wrist while the dagger was still inches from her skin. A small squeeze was all it took to cause Nesta to cry out and drop the dagger. Ianthe gripped a little tighter and Nesta’s knees buckled as she heard her wrist crack. 

“How disappointing,” the bitch frowned at her. “And here I thought we had reached a deal.” She stood, hoisting Nesta up by her broken wrist. “And now we have to do this the old fashioned way it seems. Ianthe slammed Nesta around so her back was on the table, splashing wine and pudding and cream all over her face and dress. She cried out once more, and this time heard the muffled chorus of “No’s” and “Pleases” and “Don’ts” from the staff. “I guess we’ll have to make a mess after all,” she muttered mere inches from Nesta’s face. "Who does she like the most, Azalea?"   
  


"The maid," it answered.  Jenny began gasping for air as Nesta tried to lift herself off the table only to be held down by Ianthe, a sharp pain in her side weakening her struggle. Connor’s voice was loudest of the staff, begging for mercy, for it to be him first.

“Let her go!” Elain’s voice came from behind Ianthe as she held her own proper ashwood dagger to her throat. Graysen had probably given it to her, but where she kept it, when she got it, Nesta had no idea. 

“So you broke free?” Ianthe asked, still holding Nesta down. 

“I did,” small droplets of blood dripped down the side of Elain’s neck from where Nesta had dug her nails in. The staff had broken their glamour after mild strangling, it was a gamble that pain was the cause, but Nesta had to try. 

“Are you going to slit my throat with that little thing?” Ianthe asked. 

“I-I will,” Elain’s hesitation was clear, but she held the dagger closer, breaking the skin. “Let her go. Let them all go.” 

Ianthe laughed again. “Too good. You two are too good... The Cauldron will love you,” she smiled to Azalea, “Clean up,” grabbed Elain’s hand and twisted it hard. Her wrist snapped and the knife fell. Without another word, before Nesta could register what was happening, the world vanished into bright light.

* * *

_ Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.  _

_ It’s time. I’m sorry. Good bye.  _

Nesta knew that voice. The same force that had once held her foot in place now took a pass over her entire body. It wasn’t scary nor was it malicious as it had felt then. It was soft, gentle, reassuring. It felt like her mother stroking her hair. It felt like sleeping on her father’s chest. It felt like holding Elain’s hand. It felt like dancing with Clare. 

And she knew that was the last time she’d ever feel anything like it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. The last time Nesta sees her house until after the war. The last time they see human lands as humans. 
> 
> Someone a while back commented that Azalea would pick up on Nesta's weird reactions to glamours. And I was like yeah, of course he does, and of course it's gonna come back. Bonus points to anyone who correctly guesses how I designed Azalea's powers to work and how it was applied in the previous chapter. 
> 
> (Ianthe has small tits to Nesta because I think its hilarious if she glamours them to look huge)  
> Next time: Prisoners in Hybern.


	29. Hybern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta wakes up in Hybern Castle.

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre walked along the dock hand in hand, their mother behind them. When their father had business at port for an extended time, it wasn’t uncommon for them to come and spend time visiting him and the bustling city. 

As they were walking, Feyre noticed a lady drop her coin purse. Dropping her sister’s hand, she ran over and picked it up. She pulled on the woman’s cloak to get her attention. 

“Dropp’d dis.” 

The woman turned around, noting the toddler holding up her purse. Looking past her to the slightly older sister running up as well. Smiling, the old woman took the purse back. 

“Oh my, child,” she said. Reaching into her cloak, she continued, “As thanks.” She held out a small comfit. Feyre’s eyes grew wide as the joy of receiving candy lit up her face. She happily took the treat, eating it immediately as Elain appeared at her side, taking her hand in her three-year-old iron grip. 

“Feyre! Mom said we have to hold hands!” 

“But Elain!” 

“Oh! What a lovely older sister! Here, you have one, too,” the old lady held out another candy to Elain, who was delighted, thanking the woman and savoring the treat. Nesta and her mother finally appeared. 

“I’m sorry my daughters are bothering you,” she said with a nod. “They get so excited when we come to port.” 

“Nonsense, they are lovely girls,” the old woman responded, eying Lady Archeron and her daughters, finally noting that the soft velvet cloaks they wore, the beaded silk dresses, the shoes. Even the toddler’s outfit was worth more than her entire yearly pay. She bowed, “my lady,” and turned to go. 

“Let’s get back to your father,” Lady Archeron started shooing her daughters along when she noted Nesta’s pouting face. 

“What is it Nesta?” 

“I didn’t get a candy.” 

“Do you want one?” Nesta nodded. “Then get one,” her mother instructed, pushing Nesta toward the old woman. 

Nesta looked up to see the woman walking away, “Umm, lady!” she said in a weak and nervous voice. Her mother sighed. 

“Excuse me,” she said in her commanding tone, the one that left Nesta speechless. The stranger turned around. “My daughter has something to say.” 

Nesta clung to her mothers’ skirts as she looked up at the old woman. “ _CanIhaveacandytooplease_? ” She said much too fast and much too soft to be understood. Her mother put her hand on her back, and she looked up at her mom, silently asking for help.

“Speak up Nesta. If there is something you want in life, you have to take it for yourself,” she patted Nesta’s back twice. “You are my little Lady, aren’t you?” Nesta nodded again. 

Taking a deep breath, Nesta puffed up her little chest, put her hands on her hips, and turned her head up to the old woman. “I would like a candy.”

* * *

Nesta awoke shivering in a prison cell, noting first the rancid smells of seaweed, rust, and decay. She couldn’t hear the ocean, but its salt had made its way to this dungeon, adding a biting chill to the air. Holding herself to keep warm, she next noted her missing outer dress and shoes, leaving just her chemise and stockings to protect her from the biting wind. Immediately feeling down her hip, she let out a little sigh of relief as she felt her bloomer intact. Finally she sat up, ready to look around, realizing just a second too late that she instinctively used her broken wrist to prop herself up. 

But it didn’t hurt. She examined the arm. No swelling, no bruising, it looked completely normal. Her back hurt, but more the dull ache from sleeping on a straw mat on stone floor, rather than from having several ribs cracked by a crazy fae bitch. 

“They healed you,” a woman’s voice drew Nesta’s attention. Across her cell, standing on the other side of the bars was what appeared to be a young woman. She was tall, angular, and hard, her face beset by a most unpleasant frown. The ears poking through smooth shoulder-length black hair marked her as a High Fae. 

“And stole my shoes?” Nesta looked back down to her feet, cold despite the woolen socks.

“Your clothes were covered in food and dirt,” she leaned into the bars, resting her forearms on the iron, a terrible grin spread on her face. “We could have left them, let them attract the vermin.” Her black eyes glowed to a light brown momentarily then faded back. Nesta shivered, but nothing else seemed to happen. 

“What about my sister? Where is she?”

The woman’s expression did not change. “One is on her way, I believe. The other...” she leaned back, looking around the wall to her right. Nesta’s cell had three stone walls, only the wall with an entrance was made of iron. “Still asleep.” 

“Where are we?” She asked, a little suspicious of the answer already. Based on Azalea’s known allegiance, she would have guessed she was headed to the Spring Court, to Feyre’s Beast of an ex. But this cell and its cold weather didn't jive with Feyre’s descriptions of Tamlin’s palace. The only other clue she had was Ianthe mentioning the Cauldron. If that’s where she was taking them… 

“You are in Hybern castle.” 

_ Well fuck me, then.  _

Nesta rubbed her temples. Hybern. From what Ianthe had said, planning a wedding, that Feyre had told her about Nesta’s resistance to glamours… she was probably the priestess that had “helped” Feyre with her failed wedding. Azalea was already confirmed to work for Tamlin. If she was taken here to Hybern… did the Spring Court ally themselves with Hybern? 

Oh, that’s bad. Very bad. The Spring court borders the Wall. If it comes down and is part of the invading host, they will have no buffer. Everyone at home will… 

_ Clean up.  _

Nesta was suddenly hit with the overwhelming realization that everyone at home was probably already dead. She had chosen Elain. She had chosen to fight. And then she failed. And her staff got murdered for it. She had failed and now they were dead and Elain was still in a cell in Hybern castle. Hybern. The human hating, massacre-seeking mad-Fae that no doubt planned to use them as leverage against Feyre to stop her sister from preventing him from tearing down the Wall and massacring everyone else on this fucked up island. 

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the grief and shame and hatred that ignited her bones and boiled her blood. In doing so she was caught once again with the overwhelming stench of seaweed, rust, rot. And this time she recognized the smell clear as day. She had spent enough time purging it from her parlor after those bitch-queens tracked it in. 

_ Traitors - the lot of them.  _

She didn’t know why they had decided to work with Hybern, but they absolutely had. And it made sense now, the refusal to ask for more information, the delays, the runaround. They weren’t throwing Prythian and the moral lands to the wolves and preparing for war on their own, they were throwing them to the wolves to actively ally _with_ _Hybern_ , the most despicable fae-king in history. The villain in every story about the war, the man who slaughtered his hundred thousands slaves instead of freeing them. 

That outrage cut through her grief like a fine blade, honing her senses back to herself. She found power in her rage. Her temper ran so hot it had looped background to icy control. She stood, walking to the edge of her cell, staring down the strange fae woman. 

“What’s your endgame here? Lure Feyre to you? Or are you after her High Lord?”  _ The most powerful High Lord in history _ , Feyre had called him. Nesta let out a performative laugh, evil and cold. “It won’t work. She’s set enough traps in her life to sniff this one out easily enough.” The words were a dare, a challenge. Playing into the ego, the superiority these fae felt over her kind.  _ C’mon bitch. Tell me your plan, prove how much smarter you are than me.  _

“You aren’t bait,” the woman snarled, eyes flashing again. “If you were merely bait, you’d be in much worse shape, girl.” 

Nesta pretended to be intrigued, tilting her head to look down her nose at the woman, “Then why are we here?” 

For just a moment, the mask faltered, and surprise appeared on the fae’s face. “What are -”

“Nesta? Nesta?” Elain called out from next door, distracting both of them. Before Nesta could return her attention to her opponent, the woman had disappeared. 

“I’m here Elain, I’m here,” she sighed. 

Nesta and Elain moved to the front of their cells, sitting against their shared wall, trying to be be as close to one another even if they couldn’t see each other.

“Why are we here, if not to be bait?” Elain asked, surprisingly calm after hearing everything Nesta learned in her short conversation. 

“I don’t know, but the woman said something about Feyre being on her way.” 

“Prisoners of war then? Do they plan to trade us for the Book?” 

“I hope not.” Nesta didn’t even want to consider it. There was no outcome of such a trade that wouldn’t be horrible. Either they’d be allowed to die or they’d be saved at the expense of everyone else - and then probably die in the war anyway. Nesta banged a fist against the metal bars, feeling the ring of the metal in her ears and hand alike. 

“Nesta?” 

“What?” she asked, more clipped than she intended. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Nesta dropped her arm down to the floor and turned her head over her shoulder so her cheek was flush to the stone. “For what?” 

“Those fae, Azalea and Ianthe. I-I let them in, I  _ invited _ them in,” her voice was starting to break and Nesta couldn’t bear to hear it. 

“You couldn’t have done anything Elain, they glamored you. And you fought back when you were freed,” Nesta tried to summon the tone her mother once used when she praised them. Not too proud, steady and indifferent. Remove the sentimentality and state the facts, that way they know it’s the truth. “ _ You _ have nothing to apologize for.” 

Elain said nothing more for a good long while, and neither did Nesta. 

* * *

In all, prison wasn’t that bad. It was a bit cold, a bit damp, and the mat was woefully uncomfortable, but it was just that, uncomfortable. And that midling discomfort had Nesta more perplexed than anything else. 

She and Elain were locked in the dregs of Hybern Castle. Shouldn’t she be getting tortured or something? Shouldn’t Hybern be laughing as they screamed under the knife of some monstrosity? Shouldn’t they at least be  _ threatened  _ with torture and unimaginable suffering? 

At worst they were making her bored. 

Maybe a little thirsty, too. She and Elain were avoiding talking in part to preserve their throats. So that was it? Hybern Castle, most fearsome place of death and misery, was boring her and making her thirsty? Was it bad that she was - just a bit - disappointed? 

She could, she supposed, torture herself. She could allow herself to remember Jenny, or Connor, or Lionel. She could try and recall the horrible gasping noise Henry made when Azalea’s vines constricted his throat. She could let herself hear Connor’s desperate pleas for mercy when Jenny was choking. But that self-flagellation was bound to happen whether she was in prison or not, so it wasn’t fair to give  _ Hybern _ credit for it. And something in her own stubbornness refused to let her properly recall the experience just yet. She wasn’t going to do Hybern’s job for him. If her wanted her in unimaginable mental and physical anguish the lazy fuck would actually have to put in the work for it. 

They hadn’t seen so much as a guard since the Fae woman who watched them wake up. And while she wasn’t going to complain about the lack of company, it was a little offensive. Were they not worth tormenting? Were they not worth checking in on to make sure they weren’t escaping? Sure, they weren’t going to. Nesta had no idea where to even begin with a jailbreak. But she would have liked them to at least think that she was a threat. 

Nest pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of heavy footfalls. She kept her gaze forward, focused on the opposite wall, not wanting to yeild a second of power to the owner of those steps. It wasn’t until the owner addressed them that she looked up. 

“Food.” Staring down at her from in front of her cell, holding two bowls of what she assumed was gruel, was a young man. A young,  _ human  _ man. He was tall, taller than Graysen, almost as tall as Cassian, with long brown hair that made his face look too short. His nose was probably once handsome but had obviously been broken too many times to resemble an attractive shape. But what Nesta found most unsettling was his eyes. Deep brown, almost black, as if they had been darkened by pain, by suffering, by death. This man had definitely seen death, and a lot of it. 

“I thought Hybern killed all their slaves,” Nesta commented. The man huffed a single laugh.

“He did, brought me back though.” 

“Brought you back?” Elain’s question was sincere, based on the confusion in her voice. 

“I am Jurian, the King resurrected me by the will of the Cauldron.” 

Elain gasped, recognizing the name as quickly as Nesta did. But where Elain’s gasp seemed as though she actually believed the bastard, Nesta couldn’t fathom a reality where that was true. She stared at him in utter disbelief, not even able to say anything to him that wouldn’t sound stupider than the words that just came out of his mouth. It was such an outrageous lie, it had to be. Even if the Cauldron could resurrect a human dead for 500 years, why do it? Why bring back your most hated enemy? Why let him walk around freely? 

“Try another lie, I’m not buying this one.” 

“It’s not a lie, I am Jurian.” 

“The king of hybern actually resurrects his most hated enemy and uses him to  _ bring dinner to prisoners? _ Bullshit.” 

“It is lovely to hear how my reputation proceeds me. But unfortunately, I was never his most hated enemy, just a thorn in his side.”

“And he brought back a thorn in his side?” 

“My reputation with humanity makes me useful to him,” he smiled wider. 

“Why - why are you working for him?” Elain asked, her voice carried both her own disappointment and the disappointment she felt for Graysen, for his hero to be working for the fae who would kill them all. 

“It suits my goals for now. Dinner?” He sat the food down through the bars in their cells. While he was still kneeling on the ground, he ran his fingers through the greasy mop of hair on his head. Nesta wondered if he would need to wash his hands afterwards. 

“Did he think your reputation would make you more suited to deal with us?” she asked while he was still kneeling at their level. 

“Well it was supposed to be Brannaugh,” he leaned in too close to Nesta, “but she’s shit with people when she can’t read their minds.” Nesta didn’t say anything. She hadn’t even realized someone was  _ trying _ to read her mind, let alone that they failed to. “Does Rhys have trouble reading you, too, I wonder? Or is he responsible for those sheilds?”

“Maybe she’s just not very good at reading minds?” Nesta finally said. Jurian laughed at that and stood. 

“I admit I was excited when I heard you were close to Cassian. I’m glad you did not dissappoint.” 

Nesta immediately shot back, “Too bad you sure did.” 

He chuckled. "Is that anyway to talk to a hero?” 

"Are you one?"

"Depends who you ask"

"I asked you."

Jurian met Nesta's gaze. There was something there, something she recognized. Self-hatred. Resignation. But in a moment it was gone, smothered by a blanket of madness. 

"I won't free you, if that's what you are hoping." 

"Can you at least tell us why are we here?" Elain asked. 

Jurian looked down at her. "You're here because your sister is coming for the Cauldron." With that, Jurian the Hero, the savior of Humanity, left. Neither sister touched the food he left behind, pushing it as far away from their cells instead. 

* * *

With no windows or change in the torch-light, they really didn’t know what time it was. The only thing marking it as having been a  _ while _ was the amount of congealing the gruel displayed. When it seemed properly dried out, they decided to try and rest a little. But right as they were about to pass over the bridge to slumber, something jolted them awake and alert.

  
“Do you… feel that?” Elain asked. Nesta absolutely could. Power swelled and flowed around them, pulsing and laughing. They could see none of it, but Nesta could  _ feel  _ where it was. She reached out a hand touch one of the swells, only to have it back away. She reached further, and it backed away yet again. Finally she moved, launching herself forward from her knees, barely brushing it with her fingertips. 

And oh how  _ good  _ it felt. 

Refusing to eat had left her hungry, lack of sleep left her tired, stone floors left her aching. But now… now she was invigorated. She was  _ ready _ . 

The dungeon doors burst open, and monstrous looking soldiers marched up to their cells, and Nesta knew. This was it. Feyre was here, she came with that court of hers and had used the Book. Whatever Hybern planned to use Elain and Nesta for, they were going to do it now. And Nesta was not going to make it easy for them. Fuck her lessons. 

They opened their cells. “Get up,” they commanded. She assumed Elain did as she was told, but Nesta remained on the ground, waiting. When they seized her arm she wrenched it out of their grasp. Three of them had to work together to get her off the floor and on her feet. “Walk”, they commanded. Nesta did not move a step. They pushed her and she just let herself fall forward, catching herself before she hit the ground. They pulled her up again and tried to hold her arms in place and walk her forward. She started wrenching out of their grasp again, this time clawing flesh with her nails. It didn’t hurt them too badly, but it was annoying. Little victories. Finally someone brought rope out. It took several men, and they had to push her back to the ground to pin her in place enough to tie her hands together. 

Once she was tied up, they had an easier time dragging her along, but she still fought for every step. She started yelling then too, cursing them, damning them. She called them cowards, monsters, beasts. 

> You assholes really need seven men to move one puny human? 
> 
> You think you will win this war? Your best general lost to a child. 
> 
> Your king is too scared to fight on his own, isn’t he? That’s why he needed the Cauldron, right? Because he’s too weak to fight the Night Court on his own? 

The last remark earned her a well-placed backhand, but she just laughed through the pain.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You know how weak you are. How pathetic your king is -” 

A second strike interrupted her, and it was followed by the order to gag them. She continued to hurl insults at them through the gag, forcing them to confront her every moment. It didn’t escape her notice that they bound and gagged Elain as well, as though that was their plan all along, as though she didn’t force them to do it. 

She laughed at them, even as the queens stared at her with horror and hatred alike. She laughed at them, even as they passed her off to four human men. She laughed at them, even as they dragged her and Elain into a throne room filled with soldiers, Kings, enemies, allies, and everything in between. 

* * *

Feyre’s gasp of horror when they entered the room was enough to let Nesta know that the Night Court had no idea they were taken. Either it really hadn’t been that long since they were taken, or Rhysand lied when he said they would be checking on them. 

Looking around the room, she could see quite an interesting picture. The king sat on his throne, high above them all, dark and hard and in desperate need of sunlight and moisturizer. He, like all fae, was predisposed to be handsome, but the sallowness of his features just made him look weak and, frankly, ugly. Didn’t help that he smelled of seaweed and rot. 

Below his throne srood Jurian and two other High Fae. Nesta knew who they both were immediately, despite having only barely met one of them in an entirely different form. One fae had bright red hair and a silver mechanical eye, making him Lucien, friend and confidant of the High Lord of Spring. Next to him, Nesta recognized the High Lord of Spring himself by the orange and yellow power that surrounded him, looking even stronger and more clear than it had that day over a year ago. Tamlin wasn’t as pretty as Feyre described, though that could have been due to the hideous anger contorting his face... or the bloody nose. 

A gift no doubt given to him by Feyre’s new High Lord, judging by the blood on his knuckles.  _ How long was he dreaming about that? _ Rhysand was holding her sister close, arms perfectly snaked around her torso. Feyre was dressed for battle, in leather armor that matched Cassian and Azriel’s. She also seemed to have gotten a new tattoo. 

Behind them stood Cassian and Morrigan, with Azriel limp and bleeding between them. _The plan had not gone well then._ Not that she really needed to see Azriel to know that. The Cauldron stood in the middle of the room, in all its glory. The power pulsing out of it, limitless and wonderful. So that was what she had felt in her cell. Feyre had jostled its magic, spreading a wave through the castle, and girls felt it. How odd that she hadn’t felt it before, how odd that it’s mist of power still seemed to avoid her like the wave had. 

The queens were nearest to her, still by the door. Nesta didn’t bother to turn back and look at them. The traitors weren’t worth it, not when they  _ bowed _ to the King of Hybern as he spoke, as he explained his cunning plan. Bringing back Jurian made sense now. He might have been hated by the Fae, but he was a Hero to humans. He could go to the continent and warn them in advance. Get them on his side, spin stories of Rhysand’s cruelty, only empowered by the reputation he maintained himself. If Nesta wasn’t so thoroughly disgusted at how poorly it worked out for her and her family, she might have been impressed. For a moment she almost respected and forgave them. They were serving their own people, emboldened by the words of their kind’s greatest hero. But as it stood, _her_ people were dead, she and her sister were prisoners, and there was no doubt in  _ her  _ mind that Hybern was full of shit. She was inclined to agree with Feyre when she started yelling at them. 

“Liar! They are liars, and if you do not let my sisters go, I will slaughter—”

“Do you hear the threats, the language they use in the Night Court?” The king interrupted Feyre’s outburst with a sickeningly sincere voice. “Slaughter, ultimatums …” he even threw in a sigh. ”They wish to end life. I desire to give it.”

Those words gave Nesta pause.  _ What the fuck does that mean _ ? 

The old bitch answered the king. “Then show us—prove this gift you mentioned.”

_ What the fuck does  _ **_that_ ** _ mean?  _

Rhysand looked at the queen, his face itself a condemnation. There was knowledge in his eyes, he knew. He had looked into her mind and seen what the gift was. “You are a fool,” was all he said.

“Is she?” The king interjected again. “Why submit to old age and ailments when what I offer is so much better?” He gestured to Feyre, and before he spoke Elain gasped. When he continued, Nesta understood what Elain realized. “Eternal youth. Do you deny the benefits? A mortal queen becomes one who might reign forever. Of course, there are risks—the transition can be … difficult. But a strong-willed individual could survive.”

Rage. Bitter anger and white hot rage.  _ Selfish mother fucking  _ **_traitors_ ** _.  _ Anything that could have become respect or understanding for these women died. Hybern didn’t need to send Jurian or demonize Rhysand. These queens would have sided with him no matter what, so long as he offered them eternal youth. They sold their people up the river so they may live forever as fae. _**Fucking traitors**. _

“Show us. Demonstrate it can be done, that it is safe,” the old cunt had been so high and mighty to Feyre about her transformation. _ That bitch, that hypocritical fucking bitch _ . She was jealous. She wanted it, and seeing Feyre had only made her want it more. The king smiled down at her from his throne. 

“Why did you think I asked my dear friend Ianthe to see who Feyre Archeron would appreciate having with her for eternity?”

The words clanged through Nesta and everything went silent, her anger toward the woman smothered by overwhelming dread. She couldn’t hear anyone else, couldn’t see anyone but Elain. They had wondered why. Why take them? Why not kill them? Why not torture them? Elain looked back at her. And they both knew. They were here to be guinea pigs. They weren't tortured because Hybern needed them to be strong to withstand the transformation. Elain’s eyes were full of terror. She could not be changed. It would be the end of her and Graysen. He would die for her, he would turn his back on the world for her, but this was the one thing he could not do. He could not love her if she were Fae. 

Nesta looked from Elain to Cassian. She had avoided his gaze since entering the room. He had promised to protect her people, and then he failed. He had left her alone with a psychotic priestess and a fucked up plant, and everyone she loved was now either dead or trapped in this damn throne room. 

But now she knew that they had a terrible fate waiting for them, and she had no choice but to turn to him for help. Even if Elain survived the transformation, it would destroy her. All the years, all the suffering, all the bad news, and she never looked that terrified. Nesta did not have the power to save her. She could only be a minor annoyance to her captors. But Cassian...  Cassian was strong, right? He was Rhysand’s general. And he had promised. He promised. She met his eyes.  _ You promised. Please, you promised.  _ She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t understand what he was thinking, but he held her gaze for a long moment and nodded. 

While the arguments between Feyre and the king continued, Cassian slowly passed more of Azriel’s weight to Morrigan. She looked horrified at him, but accepted it. He took a breath and started to move when the king suddenly said: 

“I would suggest bracing yourselves.”

White light slammed into the Night Court. Rhysand and Cassian moved just before it hit. Rhysand shoved Feyre behind him, protecting her with his body. Cassian had more people to protect, extending his wings fully to shield Azriel and Morrigan. It worked, goodness help them, it worked. 

But it cost his wings. Nesta watched in horror as the white light shredded his wings, ripping through them as though they were made of tissue paper, spraying blood everywhere. He cried out and Nesta felt herself cry out with him. By the time the light faded, what little was left of his wings was in tatters. Blood poured out of every torn artery and vein, spilling all over the floor. He collapsed, and something in Nesta collapsed as well. 

Then Elain screamed for Feyre. Nesta watched as Tamlin lunged for Feyre, trying to grab her back, but Elain’s warning had come in time. She threw a knife at his head. The spring fae ducked out of the way, stopping in his tracks at the second knife she had ready. As he looked between her sister and Rhysand, Nesta really hoped the bastard was remembering what it felt like the last time Feyre plunged a knife into his flesh. 

Soldiers closed in around them, and Feyre lunged for Cassian. Morrigan, on her knees beside Cassian, let out a mighty cry before making a mad dash for the king. Watching her move, watching how deftly she dodged his power, Nesta thought she might do it. She might kill him before anyone else suffered. 

Then Azriel let out a cry of pain. His wound grew, and another gush of blood came out. Morrigan stopped in her tracks. The king and Jurian  _ laughed,  _ as she dropped the knife. A hunger appeared in the king’s eyes, one Nesta knew well. 

“What a mighty queen you are,” he purred. From the way Morrigan backed away, she knew that hunger as well. “What a prize.”    
  


“Don’t you touch her,” Azriel spat through the pain, coughing up blood with each word. Despair, resignation, and love all mixed together in Morrigan’s expression as she retreated to his side, pressing his wound closed once more. Feyre was kneeling by Cassian now, Rhysand at her side as she ripped off the leather on her arm. Why exactly, Nesta had no idea, but she figured it was to heal him somehow. 

That scene, the five of them collapsed and bloody on the floor was the most depressing thing Nesta had ever seen. It was the end. There was no hope now. They were all as powerless as she was. And there was nothing any of them could do as the king said:

“Put the prettier one in first.” 

He added some unnecessary threats to Rhysand and Feyre, as though they weren’t already aware what would happen to Azriel should they move. Elain cried and shook as they pulled her forward, screaming over and over, “Please. No. Don’t. Stop. Please.” She fought back, trying to keep from moving forward. It was not anger or rage in her voice, it was fear. All fear. 

Nesta raged for the both of them. Extra fae soldiers had to come hold her back as she roared and thrashed. Vaguely she registered the Spring Court fae trying to stop it, that Feyre was pleading with the king, with the queens. But Nesta didn’t dare look away from Elain, bellowing her name over and over, hoping she knew she wasn’t alone. Elain fought back, but when there was no traction left, no ground, no edge to kick off of. Everything stilled as Elain quietly sobbed, “Graysen. I love you, I’m sorry.” Then her foot hit the water, and she screamed. Not a sob, not a plea, a scream. Loud and shrill and horrible. It was the worst noise Nesta had ever heard. She bucked in response to it, matching the scream with one of her own. 

This was it. This was the end. 

Nesta fell silent when the Cauldron was tipped forward and Elain was poured out of it. She was wet, but looked still whole. She was still gagged, but her bindings had been cut. She was still on the ground for a long moment, and Nesta watched, waiting.  _ Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.  _

Elain took in a long, haggard breath and coughed slightly, and Nesta was overwhelmed with relief. She was alive. Still alive. She was still alive. Then she started to get up, her hair moved exposing her ears, and Nesta knew something worse was waiting for her. Nesta roared. 

_ Elain. Elain. How dare they? How dare they? How dare they take away her future? How dare they make her live through this? How DARE THEY?!  _

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.” 

Nesta went silent. Turning her attention for a moment to Hybern. Then to the snicker of guards as they beheld Elain’s almost fully exposed body, then back to the guards who started pulling her along. Nesta unleashed her rage. 

She fought viciously as the fae guards dragged her to the Cauldron. She did not step, she kicked, she bucked, she thrashed, she raged. In her unyielding struggle she felt the bindings on her wrists loosen. They lifted her off the ground to put in the damn thing, and she managed to kick one in the head. Even as her body was submerged, she fought. The water was so cold it burned, but she felt the damn thing whimper as she entered it.

“Put her under,” the king tried and failed to hide his panic as he was slowly realizing what a terrible idea it was to put _this_ woman in Cauldron. The Cauldron trembled under and around her and Nesta, emboldened by its fear, managed to wrench her right arm free from its bindings. 

She pointed at Hybern, promising him death. 

She knew now why her mother’s first lesson came to her, the only one she ever really needed to listen to. She knew why this Cauldron had avoided her, why it was afraid of her. She knew what she wanted, what she had been lacking. Why Feyre was forced to leave with Tamlin, why Clare died, why her staff died, why Elain was forced to go through this nightmare. 

She was powerless.

She would not be anymore. 

Nesta knew what she wanted. 

**And she was going to _take_ it. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview to silver flames has Nesta'a POV when she's in the cauldron, so I'm not going to write that bit. Next chapter will pick up with Nesta being dumped onto the floor.
> 
> Leave comments or reviews, let me know your thoughts. You can always hit me up on twitter or tumblr at Saphie2343


	30. Elain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta emerges from the Cauldron with only one concern.

> _ In the beginning  _
> 
> _ And at the end  _
> 
> _ There was Darkness  _
> 
> _ And nothing more _

Nesta tumbled out of the Cauldron, swallowing the last dregs of power she could steal before meeting the cold stone floor. She lay there for just a second before taking in air for the first time in years. She almost threw up then and there. If this place smelled bad before, it sure as fuck smelled awful now. 

She was going to kill him for this smell alone. 

But now was not the time to worry about that.  _ Elain.  _

Nesta stood, finding the longer, slimmer limbs of the Fae awkward as she ripped the gag from her mouth. But again, now was not the time to worry about that. She turned her attention immediately to Lucien, holding a trembling Elain in his arms. 

While she knew, vaguely, that he had helped her while she was still powerless to, the thought of anyone touching her sister for any reason, especially a  _ man _ was rather sickening. “Get off her!” Nesta ripped Elain from his grasp and used her shoulder to shove him off and away. Setting Elain on her feet, Nesta used her new strength to help keep her upright and started looking over her in detail. 

How long had it been? It was only moments when Elain had gone it, but was it longer this time? Was Elain ok? Was she harmed while Nesta was in the Cauldron? The vacant look in her eyes, did she have that before Nesta went in? Either tears or leftover Cauldron water began to fall from Nesta’s eyes, she wasn’t sure, but she just kept going over her sister, half relieved to see her again, half horrified at how  _ broken _ she seemed. 

“Elain, Elain, Elain,” Nesta kept saying her name over and over, as if it would be the thing that finally snapped her back to herself. But then that orange idiot decided to say the worst possible thing. 

“You’re my mate.” Nesta turned her attention to this male who thought her sister was his to claim.  **Now** of all times. She shoved him again, though this time he didn’t move. 

“She is _ no such thin _ g.” Nesta said the words loudly and definitively, hoping Elain would let them sink in. Whatever Elain would be to anyone, it would be her future to decide in her own time, as it always had been. As Nesta had always fought for it to be. She most certainly would not be a  _ mate _ , whatever the fuck that meant. 

“Interesting. So very interesting,” Nesta ignored the soon-to-be-dead king. She had an eternity now to kill him. This moment was about Elain. She turned back to holding and petting her sister as he spoke to the also soon-to-be-dead queens. “See? I showed you not once, but twice that it is safe. Who should like to be Made first? Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.” 

Nesta held a smirk in as she felt the Cauldron whimper at the offer.  _ Good luck with that. _ Nesta wasn’t sure how much power it needed to turn a human, but she was certain the Cauldron didn’t have it right now. Based on how much she took from it, the victim wasn’t likely to be Made correctly. The Cauldron would recover - its power  _ was _ limitless - but it would take time for that power to collect. 

“Very well then,” the king chuckled. Nesta wasn’t even sure which queen had offered herself up. She hoped the old bitch would be the first to jump in, and that she’d come out a deformed mess. 

“If you’re so willing to hand out bargains.”  _ Dammit.  _ Why Rhysand waited until now to try and be clever, Nesta wasn’t sure. But it was damn infuriating.  _ Let them go in, _ she wanted to scream at him.  _ There is no way they come out.  _

But if she said that, then the king would know what she had done, how much she had taken from him and his stupid Cauldron. He couldn’t know yet. She had the power she wanted, the power she stole, it was a dangerous tool she didn’t know how to wield yet. Certainly not in a way that wouldn’t also kill her allies. She wasn’t entirely sure what all she stole from the damn thing, but she could feel its lethality in her bones. 

Before Rhysand could complete his offer to Hybern, Feyre collapsed on the ground next to him, holding her head and screaming. It was jarring enough to pull Nesta’s attention. She wrapped her arm around one sister as she watched her other start convulsing, pulling at her hair, panting.  _ What the hell? _ And then… light. 

Feyre erupted with bright white light, gentle where Hybern’s was destructive. It coated the room, spreading throughout the castle, burning up that awful seaweed smell as it went. When it finally faded away, Feyre settled back to her normal luminosity, and was still curled up on the floor, only now she was staring at the High Lord of Spring. 

Nesta held Elain close to her, waiting. What was her play here?    
  


“Tamlin?” she asked. Everyone watched with similar bewilderment. Feyre blinked several times, as if she was just seeing something for the first time. “Tamlin?” she repeated. Feyre then looked at her hands, the blood around her, and looked shocked, then disgusted. She turned her gaze to her friends splayed out on the floor, and finally up at Rhysand. 

The way Feyre crawled away from him in “terror” was all Nesta needed to see to know she was absolutely faking it. Feyre would never leave her back open to something she was truly scared of. She was a hunter, a fighter. She knew better. 

Feyre made her way over to Tamlin, calling out his name yet again. Lucien actually stepped in front of Elain and Nesta, as though he could do something if Feyre really had lost her mind. Feyre whirled her gaze around the room, to everyone around her before staring back at Rhysand. 

“What did you do to me? What did you do?” To her credit, it was a  _ very  _ convincing performance. If Nesta didn’t know better, she’d absolutely believe Rhsyand had somehow been… 

“How did you get free?”  _ oh ho ho ho.  _ The dark purr in his voice, the flex of darkness, this was a Rhysand she’d never seen before. This was the High Lord of the Night Court, the evil king who shattered minds and abused the weak for sport. 

“What?” Jurian backed off the wall he’d been leaning on. He looked confused as all hell and Nesta was content to revel in that confusion. Feyre turned back to Tamlin, gripping his shirt and sobbing - real, honest to Wall sobs. 

“Don’t let him take me again, don’t let him—don’t—”

Tamlin’s face softened. Something a lot like love shone in his eyes as tears welled up. He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered Feyre’s name like a prayer. 

_ Fucking Hell, men are stupid.  _

That was it. Feyre had him. There was nothing to do now but watch, see what the end game was. “Don’t let him take me. I don’t want to go back.” Those sobs were real, that request… 

“What did you do to that girl?” Morrigan’s outrage at Rhysand sounded genuine, as though she hadn’t been the one to walk out of Spring with Feyre. As though that would cover for the fact she was slowly picking up Cassian’s mangled body, moving it closer to Azriel, preparing to leave. 

“How did you do it, Feyre?” Rhysand asked again. 

Nesta cocked her head, watching, trying to figure out  _ how _ , as well. How did her pleas to break the mating bond - whatever the fuck that is - correlate to them getting the Hell out of here in one piece? Well, at least the same amount of pieces they are currently in.   
  


“No more. No more death—no more killing.” She looked to Nesta and Elain, and Nesta saw the apology there, in her eyes. “No more. Take me home and let them go. Tell him it’s part of the bargain and let them go. But no more—please.”  _ Ah. There it is.  _ Let them all think Rhysand really was the bad guy, she really was brainwashed, and that she can’t handle bloodshed. Tamlin had to not know her at all if he thought Feyre wouldn’t demand retribution for such a violation as the one she was accusing Rhysand of. She was nastier than any of them if you pissed her off enough. But it worked. Tamlin turned to the king and restated the demand. 

“Let them go, break her bond, and let’s be done with it. Her sisters come with us. You’ve already crossed too many lines.”

Only Jurian objected. The king almost immediately agreed. 

The bond breaking looked an awful lot like Feyre’s little light show, only this was in double. Both Rhysand and Feyre were on the ground, screaming and writhing. Elain shook at the sound, Nesta held her tighter, trying to silently let her know it was ok. It was fake. 

They stopped convulsing and the tattoos on their left hands faded.  _ Ok, maybe it wasn’t entirely fake. _

Morrigan hauled Rhysand’s body over to Cassian and Azriel, when she deemed him close enough, she let go, letting him crawl through their blood to them. Nesta tried not to think about how much of that blood was Cassian’s, how much extra blood he lost when he was trying to crawl to her. Morrigan turned back and looked at Feyre. Nesta couldn’t see her face, but with how quickly she vanished and reappeared in front of them upon getting Hybern’s dismissal, she assumed it was a good-bye. Morrigan pushed Lucien out of the way with little more than a flick of her hand. She placed the same hand on Nesta’s left arm. With a nod, Nesta gripped Elain tight with her right arm and covered Morrigan’s hand with her own left one. 

This time, when Nesta was pulled into nothingness, it was blackness. 

* * *

They were deposited above some large house, falling 30ft down. Morrigan moved to embrace them, to help them land. Nesta held Elain up as they hit the concrete. She certainly felt the impact, but it didn’t hurt that bad. 

Morrigan backed up from the sisters, looking them over, making sure they were more or less okay. Nesta barely noted Morrigan’s glance though, too distracted by the view just beside her. She recognized it immediately. Rhysand himself had shown them all this back in her parlor. 

“Velaris,” she whispered, wonder in her tone. The Veritas did not do this place justice. It was… stunning. The soft midmorning light illuminated the city with a gentle blanket of light, catching and reflecting rays through windows, making the whole city look as though it was made of starlight. It was almost beautiful enough to wipe away the memories of the past few days for a moment. Almost. 

Perhaps if it wasn’t dotted with destroyed buildings or streets coated in rubble, it could have. But looking out at the city now, she couldn’t help but look past the beauty and see the destruction. Something had happened here, too. 

“This is the House of Wind. It’s warded and safe, only those who are invited can get in. There are rooms for you two on the second floor, it has clothes. We can send servants up if you would like later. What else?” Morrigan didn’t breathe as she rushed through her speech, constantly looking down at the city, then back up to the girls. Clearly, she had better things to do right now.

“The others won’t be joining us here, will they?” Nesta asked 

“No, you can’t winnow into it, only above, and with their wounds…” Morrigan let the implication sit. She looked more worried, somehow. 

“Go,” Nesta commanded, nodding down to the city. Morrigan looked at her, utterly befuddled. She clearly did not expect a reasonable response from Nesta, and perhaps that was to be expected. “Go find out what happened to Feyre and check in on the others. We can take care of ourselves here for now.” 

Throwing a glance back at Elain, crumpled on the ground, she still looked shell-shocked. She was looking out to the city, as well, but nothing was registering on her face. In all honesty, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she wanted anyone around her right now. Morrigan looked between them and out to the city one last time before nodding. She then threw herself off of the balcony, disappearing into nothingness in the middle of the air. 

Nesta turned back to Elain and walked over to her. She picked her up under her arms, hauling her to her feet. “Let’s get you dry clothes, yeah?” When she wouldn’t move her feet, or respond to anything Nesta said, Nesta decided to try out something new. She placed an arm on Elain’s back and under her knees, with an unnecessary grunt, Nesta lifted her sister into her arms. Unnecessary, because Nesta now found Elain’s full body weight to be almost nominal to her now.

She walked into the house proper, immediately finding the massive staircase. It took a bit of searching, but she managed to find the rooms Morrigan mentioned. They were less individual rooms, and more a single, very large suite. It had two large bedrooms, each with their own bathing room, and a shared sitting room. Nesta couldn’t decide if this was a dig at the rooms she provided them on their first visit, or an actual thoughtful gesture, an assumption that the sisters would be more comfortable in a strange place if they were together. Both, she decided. It could be both.

As for why the suite with what had to be the best view of the city was prepared for them, complete with fully stocked wardrobes, Nesta could only assume it was preparatory measure in case they ever told the night court sentries they wished to seek refuge here. Nesta tried to block the memory of their impaled bodies as she dug through the wardrobes. Each had been stocked with dresses, chemises, bloomers, blouses, and even pants. Nesta held the pants for a moment and threw them aside, grabbing out fresh bloomers, a shift, and a casual gown. 

Elain was still sitting in the chair Nesta had placed her in her bedroom. She was just sitting there, head limp against the back of the chair, hair plastered to her face. Nesta managed to pull her up and lead her to the bathing room, relieved when Elain at least stayed standing in the middle of the room. She spent a moment looking around for buckets to fill the tub, but there were none. The tub did have a spout attached to it, though. She played with the large knobs on either side of the spout, slightly stunned when clean water began to spew forth, filling the tub. Plumbing was something she had heard about, but not an extravagance she thought she’d enjoy so readily. 

She undressed Elain for her, peeling off the wet layers, inspecting the exposed skin for bruises, relieved to not find any. She tried to lead Elain to the tub as it filled, but Elain began shaking. Nesta nodded, feeling somewhat similarly to the idea of submerged in water, and stopped pushing. Instead, she took a washcloth and dipped in the blessedly hot water. She then meticulously wiped Elain down, wiping away the smell of that place, of Hybern’s magic. When she was clean, Nesta dried her off. Elain didn’t speak or resist or do anything during the whole process. She just stood there and let her sister work. 

Nesta was suddenly very, very glad that the others were away dealing with the injured. 

When she couldn’t get Elain to lift her legs to put on bloomers, Nesta settled for getting a shift over her head. “All clean and dry, would you like to get lunch?” Nesta asked, as gently as she could. Elain just looked at her sister, at the face that was now different, at the ears that poked through her hair. And something finally broke through the dam. 

“I want to go home,” her expression fell from devoid to devastating, and Elain leaned her entire body weight into Nesta, crying horrible, whole-body sobs. Nesta wrapped her arms around her, rubbing her back and head, slowly leading them to the floor. 

“I know. Me too,” Nesta held Elain like that for what felt like hours, letting her get it out of her system. When her sobs mellowed into the calm, steading breathing of sleep, Nesta once again lifted her sister up. She brought her to the new, plush bed, and tucked her in, kissing her softly on her forehead.

Afraid to leave her side, Nesta simply changed into a dressing gown and moved to the chair and sat vigil, watching her sleep. Eternity, right? That’s what Hybern had thrust onto them. Well it seemed she would spend the first part of it taking care of Elain. Fine. She would have the rest of it to spend planning the bastard’s death. 

* * *

A couple of hours later, Nesta heard the sound of flapping around. She figured it was sentry or something flying over the house, though she’d be lying if she wasn’t just a little bit hopeful that it was Cassian, healed and ready to be a pain in her ass. A knock landed on the suite door. Nesta cast a glance back at Elain, still asleep, before heading in to answer the door. 

Rhysand stood in the doorway, looking down at her with discomfort and a little fear. “I didn’t know you had wings,” Nesta said as she leaned against the door. 

He nodded awkwardly, “I am half-Illyrian,” he paused for a moment, clearly remembering the unpleasantness of their last… well all of their conversations. “May I come in?” 

Nesta opened the door wider and stood aside. “It is your house.” He walked in and took a seat on one of the chairs with an odd too-skinny back.  _ Ah, for the wings _ . She noted as each one of his flared neatly on either side of the back. Rhysand looked her over. 

“If the clothes aren’t to your liking, you are welcome to request others.”  _ If that’s how you want to play it. _

“I wasn't sure what we were allowed to use,” she responded evenly. 

“Anything in this suite or the common rooms are free for you to use however you wish whenever you are here.” A generous statement, and one he meant. She took a seat across from him, taking care to cross her ankles. 

  
“How are the others?” she asked. Rhysand sighed, but answered her. 

“Azriel is already conscious again. He should be up and about in a day or so. Cassian is in worse shape. He expected to make a full recovery, but the delicate healing process will take longer, a couple weeks at least,” he explained. Nesta nodded. 

“What happened to Feyre?” She asked, bracing herself for the worst. Rhysand looked like she had slapped him. 

“You, you don’t think I actu -” 

Nesta rolled her eyes. “No Rhysand, I don’t think you’ve been brainwashing my sister for the past 5 months,” the annoyed look she gave him completed the thought. _I don’t think_ ** _much_** _of you, but I at least don’t think you’d stoop that low._ He nodded again. 

“She is currently in the Spring Court. She will be acting as a spy for now, until we have a clear idea of Hybern’s next move.” 

It was Nesta’s turn to nod uncomfortably. It was a smart move, even if it did make her nervous. Feyre knew Tamlin’s palace, clearly had his trust, it made sense, but… 

  
“She’ll be ok there?” 

He seemed genuinely surprised she’d asked. But he pulled himself back together. “Yes, I do. Feyre is a lot stronger than she seems.” 

“She always has been,” Nesta answered, swallowing a bit.  _ So what now?  _ She debated asking him. He had once offered her and Elain a home here, shelter during the war. Elain refused it, and despite her own curiosity about visiting this city, she had meant to refuse it as well. Now… now they were dead to humans and nowhere else to go, really. Rhysand cleared his throat. 

“You are welcome to stay here, of course, both of you. For as long as you like. I-if, if you’d like to go home, I will arrange it. Though with the,” he gestured to her form, “I can’t say I recommend it.” 

“I doubt there is anything to go back to anyway,” she stated quickly, trying to dismiss the faces that appeared in her mind, the terror as they were being choked to death, the horror of those impaled Illyrians. She realized that she hadn’t told them, that they might not know, “The guards you left were -”    
  


“I figured. We will collect them. I - I am sorry that we didn’t…” Rhysand took breath. “They attacked here as well. In the commotion, we didn’t think to check…. I am sorry.” He said finally. She wondered how hard it was for him to say those words. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear them. 

No. No. She didn’t want to hear them. She didn’t want an apology. She didn’t want there to be a reason for an apology. She had told them, months ago, that it was too dangerous to involve them in this war. She had stupidly gone along with it all, agreeing to play hero, thinking that it would make a difference, that her people - her family - would be safer as a result. And it had only gotten them killed, had ruined Elain’s future, and had destroyed Elain, by the looks of it. 

“How many times have you had to apologize for your hair-brained schemes?” She asked, unable to contain her anger. He looked like he wanted to respond, but he held it in somehow. She couldn’t stand it, that he actually tried to be a good person and take the abuse without fighting back. “Get out.” 

Rhysand stood. “There is food in the kitchen, if there is anything specific you want, the staff will be in tomorrow, just ask them.” With that, Rhysand left. Nesta waited to hear his footfalls leave the hall and went back to watching over Elain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are finally done with Mist and Fury. Welcome to Wings and Ruin! 
> 
> Guys! Guys! Only one and a half more books to go! :D 
> 
> We're finally (officially) in the back half of the fic! The girls are Fae now! they are in the same city as Cassian now! (is this probably going to balloon to more chapters, uhh.. probably!!) 
> 
> I really love how soft Nesta is with Elain in this chapter. Their whole relationship is one of my favorite parts of the book, and one of the things I love exploring in this fic.


	31. Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta takes some time to learn about her new home.

It was still early afternoon when Rhysand left. Elain was passed out in bed, the house was empty. Nesta was, for the first time since coming out of that Cauldron, alone. She stood inside Elain’s bedroom, watching her chest go up and down, listening to her steady, rhythmic breathing. Nesta knew that sound, she had fallen asleep to it every night for 8 years. She tried to not think about how much louder it sounded now, despite being across the room and not huddled close to her for warmth. 

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she looked down at her hands. She could still feel it, the oily sludge of the Hybern’s magic, the cold blackness of the Cauldron’s water. It was still clinging to her, staining her skin and polluting her smell. She needed a bath. Badly. 

With a final glance back to Elain, Nesta moved to the bathroom. She debated going to her own in her own room, but the idea of  ~~ being away from ~~ leaving Elain alone was too awful. Nesta pulled down some extra towels and washcloths from the cabinet and placed them beside the tub. As she was looking around for a hook to hang up the robe, she finally noticed the full body mirror on the wall. 

The woman looking back at her was a beautiful and horrifying imitation of Nesta. Her face was not longer, as Feyre’s had become, but it was sharper. A slight bend in her nose had been straightened. Her lips were plumper, more naturally red. She dropped the dressing robe. Here limbs were longer and leaner, as though they’d been stretched out. Her breasts were the same shape, but the skin that covered him, that covered her whole body, was pale and flawless, the skin translucent. She turned around, looking over her shoulder to get a view of her back. She felt a little bit of relief when she saw the same old birthmark just about her right hip. 

She turned back around and finally reached up to slowly undo her braided coronet. Much of the hair had already been loosened and pulled from the careful braid, so it wasn’t much work to free the rest of it. Her hair, it seemed, was left entirely unchanged. It still fell from the braids and expanded out around her shoulders, it’s natural curls fighting the knots and forced kinks from 3 days in the same updo, creating the unseemly volume she always kept tightly controlled in her braids.

_ Still imperfect _ , she smiled. 

She brushed the hair back behind her ears, getting a proper view of them for the first time. Long and pointed, with delicate tips. They weren’t as dramatically long as Feyre’s but they were still, undoubtedly, Fae. 

She was Fae. 

She would be like this forever now. Young and too beautiful no matter how ancient she became. Locked in time, forever 23. 

23 and homeless. Aimless. What was she going to do now? Hunt down Hybern? The queens? How? Where do you even start? Feyre would know. She’s good at this kind of hunting. She’s even doing her own hunt now. Tamlin and the Spring Court. Gathering information on Hybern’s next move. 

_ So I... wait _ ? Feyre will come back with information and then she can go from there. She has time for that now. The Cauldron is weak, Nesta made sure of that. 

As if on cue, the power she stole from the Cauldron stirred, rolling around in her skin. Too much, she stole too much. It burned as it moved, not hot, but a bitter icy cold. She held very still, afraid that any movement would rattle it, cause it to spill over. After a moment, the pool stilled, and it seemed ok to move again. 

Carefully, slowly, Nesta turned around and walked to the tub. 

The tub was still full from Elain’s washing. Nesta had been too focused on her sister to think to drain it. The water would be cold by now. She should drain and refill it. It would be a waste of water, but with this palace, Rhysand could afford it. 

Nesta bent down, reaching in to pull the plug.

And the second her fingers brushed that tepid water she was falling in, falling deep into eternal darkness. She was fighting, clawing, stealing. She was suffocating on the power she was swallowing from that damn Cauldron. She was gone, she was struggling, minutes pass, then hours, days, weeks, years. More time gone. More time struggling. The icy fire rose once more, ready to fight either with her or against her. 

She whipped back her hand and backed away from the tub as quickly as possible, stopping only when she felt something blocking her path.  _ I am not in the Cauldron. I am not in the throne room.  _ She shut her eyes tight and repeated the thoughts again and again. Forcing the panic down, the power down. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then another, and another. Each breath was accompanied with the same mantra.  _ I am not in the Cauldron. I am not in the throne room.  _

“Nesta?” Elain’s question snapped her back to reality. She opened her eyes, turning around to see her sister staring wide-eyed past her. “What did you do?” Nesta followed her gaze, looking back to find the tub completely empty. Nesta looked down at her hand, feeling the memory of that buzzing in her fingertips, seeing the mist pool between them. She didn’t know how, but she did that. 

She turned back to face Elain, to explain, to ask what she saw, Nesta didn’t know. But Elain was just standing there, horrified. Finally  _ seeing  _ Nesta. She stared at Nesta’s hands, gaze travelling up the too-long limbs, to the ethereal face, finally catching on the ears poking through her mass of hair. Nesta watched the realization dawn on Elain’s face. 

“You’re…” Elain’s hands traveled up and she felt her own ears, “I’m…” When the words seemed to fail her, Nesta started walking over to her, extending a hand in comfort or assurance. Elain backed up. Nesta tried to close the distance, and Elain retreated again, eyes never leaving Nesta’s ears, full of sorrow, horror, and heaven help her,  _ fear _ . 

“Elain,” Nesta’s plea sounded in the name, in the break in her voice.  _ Not you. Please.  _

Elain straightened up, her hand gripping the dressing gown over her heart. “I’m getting married in 2 months.” 

_ Not anymore.  _ Nesta could be blunt here, she could tell Elain the truth of the matter. That she was a fae now, and there was no longer a reality where Graysen would marry her. And even if he did see past her current body, if he could love her despite his deepest held beliefs, it still would be horrible. They were not human anymore. Graysen would grow old and die and Elain would still be young and beautiful. She would watch him die and have an eternity to mourn him. 

Maybe it would be worth it. Maybe the happy memories would sustain her through the long nights after he died. Maybe he would love her so much he wouldn’t bat an eye at her ears, her otherness. But that was a big maybe, and that was a question only Elain would know the answer to. So Nesta just stood there naked and unsure, looked at her sister’s horrified expression, and said with deepest sincerity. “I’m sorry.” 

“Get out.” 

The words came out meek at first, barely more than a whisper. They still managed to wound Nesta more than if they were a knife. When Nesta didn’t move, Elain repeated herself, stronger and more sure. “Get. Out.” 

With a defeated and silent nod, Nesta obliged. 

* * *

Nesta didn’t bother to try bathing or dressing when she got to her own room. She just crawled into bed and wrapped herself in the lush covers. She didn’t sleep, didn’t even try, she just let the impossible softness of the mattress consume her. Nesta breathed through her mouth, unwilling to let herself smell any of hybern’s stench still on her. Listening for Elain next door, her heartbeat, anything to prove that she was still alive and ok. 

Elain didn’t want to see her. That was fine. That was understandable. She doesn’t have to see her right now. Not when she looks so alien and still has the dregs of the cauldron’s black liquid clinging to her skin, frizzing her hair. And it’s been a long day, a long couple of days, actually. Some privacy to sort it all out was necessary, right? Nesta of all people should understand that. She loved being alone. She was always the one hiding as a kid, content to pass the hours in a tree, far above other people. 

_ But Elain is not people.  _

Elain is Elain.

Nesta hugged herself tightly, nails digging into the backs of her shoulders. Elain is not people. She is Elain. Her sweetest sister, kind and joyous, capable of shrewd insights despite her hapless optimism. She was the glue of their family. Able to make Feyre crack a smile, able to forgive their father, able to see past Nesta’s thorns. But the way she looked at Nesta, the fear in her eyes… Elain had time and again been there to drag Nesta back from her own precipice of hopeless despair. She had held her sisters hand and been the source of light and strength even without knowing what she was being strong for. 

Nesta had to return the favor. She had to. She could be here for Elain now. She could pull her out of this funk with her bare hands if she had to. 

But she can’t do that if Elain is afraid of her. 

Nesta didn’t sleep that night. She lay curled up in bed, staring at the sky out her window, ignoring the sparkling city below her. She counted the seconds until the moon set and the sun rose, waiting for the gentle glow of dawn to warm her face, making her list. 

Hybern would pay - the queens, too. She would make good on her promise and enjoy ripping them to shreds. She would laugh over their corpses and bathe in their blood. 

But that would come later, those thoughts and the powers they stirred would be a concern for future Nesta. First, she would take care of Elain. And be what Elain needed her to be. And the first part of being that involved getting clean somehow. 

With the dawn finally here, hopefully Rhysand’s servants would be, too. Nesta got out of bed and quickly donned the dressing gown from her wardrobe. Finding house slippers, she put them on, too, and wandered from their suite. As if on queue, two women, dark in every conceivable way, almost see through, floated into view. 

“Good morning, my lady.” 

“Are you Rhysand’s staff?” 

“I am Nuala, this is Cerridwen, we serve the High Lord and his household.” There was a pride, a strength, in her whisper of a voice that wasn’t lost on Nesta. It was a familiar sound. She had heard Lionel speak that way about her. Jenny, too. She had once hoped to live up to that pride. Now she just wished they had lived. 

“Could I get a bucket?” Nesta pushed the memories down, choking out the feelings that came with them, smothering the flicker in the Cauldron’s power. 

“Of course,” Nuala answered and flicked her hand. A bucket appeared in her grip and she handed it to Nesta. Nesta nodded and went right back to her room. 

Nesta made short work of her own bath, happy to finally, finally get clean. She let the water run out of the tap to wet her washcloth, and used the bucket to pour water over her body and hair for rinsing. In an odd way, this felt more normal than anything. Nostalgic to the old days in the hut, when this was the only way they could bathe effectively while conserving water. 

Once clean, Nesta returned to her wardrobe. Simple dresses, all made with the highest quality of cloth. She dug around for undergarments, finding bloomers that were comfortable and soft and a chemise made of the same material. Nesta smiled a little bit when, despite all the magical wealth and finery in this closet, it still fit less well than Clare’s custom chemises. Pulling a dark green dress over her head, Nesta walked over to the vanity. 

She had makeup, and even some jewelry provided in its drawers, both of which Nesta ignored. Selecting a comb, Nesta worked the knots out of her hair, finding them more stubborn than usual, and her hand far less gentle than Jenny’s. Maybe it was just uncomfortable because she kept catching her ears in the comb’s path. But Nesta persevered, managing to get her hair more or less orderly. She then worked it up into a slight variation on her usual braided coronet. She let the braids sit over her ears, instead of behind them. 

Inspecting herself in the mirror, she definitely looked… well not human. But her face, skin, limbs, all of that could be explained away. A trick of light, an optical illusion. The tell-tale, irrefutable, unavoidable, obvious sign of her new species was hidden. 

She knocked on Elain’s door. No response. She was awake though. Nesta could hear it. She knocked again. No response. One more time… nothing. With a sigh, Nesta entered. “Morning Elain.” Elain looked over Nesta. The fear wasn’t there anymore, no horror… just boredom? It was an improvement. “Are you hungry? There’s food downstairs.” Elain turned away, lying down with her back to the door. Nesta walked into the room and stood in front of her. 

“No.” Elain turned the other way, pulling the covers over her head. “I just want to be alone right now.” She mumbled into her pillow. 

Nesta sighed. At least she wasn’t yelling at her to leave anymore. No point in working her up into an argument right now. Nesta was in bed all day after Clare, Elain needed time. And that was fine. For now, it was fine. 

Nesta walked back to the door. “I’ll bring you up something.” 

She wandered back the stairs, hand on her stomach. While she was less tired than she would normally be after two nights of no sleep, she was absolutely ravenous. Her stomach felt like it might cave in on itself if she didn’t eat something, anything, soon. Smelling the air, she clocked the scent of fresh bread and ripe berries. She followed it to the kitchens, finding them empty of people or fae, but pleased to see a bowl of warm bread and platter of spreads and fruit. Next to it sat a pot of warm water, cups, and a selection of teas.

Nesta didn’t bother to check or read the teas, picking the first one and filling the two tea balls. She poured in the water and let the cups steep. Moving along to the bread, she picked up a heel and slathered it with butter and jam.

_ Holy fucking shit, was food always this good? _ Either the heightened senses made this more enjoyable, or the food really was better. Taking a quick peek to make sure no one was around, Nesta downed the heel in seconds. Prepping another, larger chunk immediately after. Removing the tea ball from the mug, she piled a tray high with the food and tea, heading back upstairs. 

Nesta brought up a tray to Elain’s room. She was still lying down, covers over her head. Nesta set down the tray on the bedside table and sat down next to her. Elain turned away. She put a hand on her shoulder, and Elain turned away again. 

“Alright then. Food’s on the table.” 

Nesta got up and left again, swiping her tea and another slice of bread on her way out. 

There was no telling how long she and Elain were going to be in this house. Though the odds were likely that it was going to be quite awhile, even if the war was won today. It would be helpful to at least know the layout. The kitchen connected to a large dining room, capped on three sides by glass walls, leading out to the balcony they landed on the day before, a sitting room with the main staircase, and yet another impeccable view of Velaris. Walking along the lower floor, she found a butlers pantry off the dining room’s solid wall, a study that looked like no one had ever used it, what appeared to be a game room, a ballroom, and more stairs leading down. 

She followed them down, finding a large stone foyer that opened up to a grand staircase. The stairs looked as though they led down into the city itself. There must be hundreds of steps, all far too steep, all for show. This house wasn’t meant to be walked into. It was meant to be flown into. Nesta watched some of the townsfolk walk around by the bottom of the steps, specks going about their business.  _ Can they all fly? Or what did Morrigan call it, Winnow?  _

Behind the foyer were other rooms, some for sitting, some seemed to be spare bedrooms, one looked like a throne room, though the blankets covering all the furniture told Nesta how often  _ that _ was used. She found another staircase, going down another flight. Taking her last bite of breakfast, she walked down until she reached a door. 

Library

What is a fae library like, Nesta wondered. Part of her couldn’t picture anything besides what she had as a child. A large room lined with shelves, maybe a couple freestanding as well, with some tables and couches to work or read, and a fireplace. Nesta hated her library as a child. None of the chairs were comfortable, and the fire was always too low to see properly. The lack of lighting is what had first led Nesta to start taking her books outdoors, up trees, and on roofs. 

This room couldn’t be more different. 

The basic concept - room with a lot of books - remained the same. But the  _ scale _ was completely incomparable. The room was easily 100 ft in any direction. The walls were at least two stories high, with a ladder and a walkway on the upper level, entirely lined with hundreds of books. In between the walls were dozens of free-standing shelves, all at least ten feet high. Scattered among the shelves were work tables with padded chairs and benches, couches, and lounging chairs. One of the walls had a large window, with a cluster of chairs underneath it. The whole room was illuminated from the ceiling in what Nesta could only assume was magic-lights. 

It was, in a word, perfect. 

She walked along each row of shelves, noting that the books weren’t just organized, they were organized by  _ section _ . History - human and fae, magics, fiction - horror, adventure, historical, and even romance, biographies, science texts, there was a section for anything and everything. Some of the books she recognized, most she didn’t. You could spend a lifetime here and still not read all of them. And this room, this room was designed to be read in. Her old library was a mere warehouse compared to this. 

How long? How long had it been since she last read a real book? 

It was the one hobby she was always allowed as a child. It wasn’t improper for her to read, so her mother let it slide. The locations and volume at which she read earned her scoldings, but never the order to stop. So she didn’t. At least, not until she was 12 and found her library empty.  _ We have debts _ . Her father said.  _ They are easy to sell _ . He explained.  _ I’ll buy them all back for you. _ He lied. 

After losing everything, buying books became a fool’s pipedream, a luxury she could never hope to afford. She tried and failed to force herself to forget how much she loved them, to accept that her reading days were behind her. Then Azalea showed up with his gold, and she considered it, buying a book or two for herself, but the thought of tarnishing that love with blood money made her stomach turn. Later, after the estate was profitable on its own, when Elain was married, when there was no war to threaten ruining another library, she was going to buy books again - replace every false book in that study with a real one. Spend her days managing her estate and reading her books. Her quiet dream of the perfect life and the perfect future. 

She felt the tears well up in her eyes, this time her power did not stir with them, as though it knew better than to threaten these precious items. A mournful, hollow sadness consumed her, and the tears that fell were for her people, her estate, and her future. 

* * *

Nesta wasn’t sure how long she was down there. But when she heard the sounds of footsteps upstairs, she wiped away her tears and straightened her back. With a heavy sigh, Nesta made her way upstairs.

Waiting in the living room was Rhysand and a woman Nesta had never met before. They were talking to the servants, Nuala and Cerridwen. They kept their voices low, barely more than a whisper, but Nesta heard them anyway, talking about her and Elain. There was nothing of note in the conversation, really, but Nesta still didn’t appreciate being spied on and talked about. Especially since they stopped their conversation cold when she entered the room. 

“Speak of the devil,” the new woman said. She was short, easily a full head shorter than everyone else in the room, and slight, too. But aura radiating off of her was powerful, more powerful than Rhysand’s darkness.  _ Interesting _ . 

“Amren, be nice,” Rhysand warned, looking nervously down at his companion, then back up to Nesta. “Nesta, this is Amren, Amren, this is Nesta.” Nesta nodded to the woman but gave no other greeting. “Is Elain up? We’d like to give you a proper tour.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Nesta held the teacup in both of her hands, “unless you have an issue with us exploring the residence ourselves.” 

“No, not at all,” Rhysand answered. The woman, Amren, just smiled at Nesta, a predator’s smile. Someone else might have been intimated with such a smile, with the silver eyes that showed so much bloodlust, but Nesta just couldn’t muster up the ability to find anything intimidating right now. Not when she needed to keep all of these monsters away from Elain. 

“Adjusting nicely then?” Amren sneered. 

“Is that a particular concern of yours?” 

Amren laughed in response, a dark and pleased laugh. “I’m always curious about those who have been Made.”    
  


Whatever that meant, Nesta didn’t really care. She changed the subject, turning her attention to Rhysand. “Have you heard from my sister?”    
  


“Yes, but only to tell us she is safe for now. She will not be communicating much, it is dangerous.” 

“So is there another point to this visit?” She asked. 

“We just wanted to check in, see how you and Elain were doing.” 

“Why?” 

,

“Because you’re my wife’s sisters,” he answered, clearly getting agitated. Nesta heard his words, zeroing in on the most important one. She wasn’t entirely surprised they had gotten married, they were clearly head-over-heels for each other. It was how the news was being given. Feyre had actually gone and gotten married, and no one bothered to tell them. 

“Well we’re fine,” Nesta answered, allowing the anger to freeze her voice. “So unless you have actual news for us,” she didn’t even bother completing the sentence. She just went upstairs and sat in her parlor, waiting for the tell-tale signs of flapping and leaving. It took a while, but they left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit long between updates with this chapter. My usual after-work and weekend writing time went to volunteering for the democratic party the week. Whatcha going to do? 
> 
> Speaking of, it's Election Day in the USofA, if you are over 18 and a US citizen, and you haven't already, please vote! Even if you aren't wild about the presidential candidates, you still should vote up and down the ballot. Most of the policy that affects your day to day life is determined on the local level, and a single vote can be a huge impact on those elections. find your polling place here: https://www.vote.org/


	32. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta spends some time with the inner circle

“Ah, good morning, Nesta,” Morrigan was waiting in the kitchen when Nesta came down to grab Elain’s breakfast. She was dressed in an ostentatiously red tunic and pants that honestly hurt Nesta’s eyes to look at. Although, to be fair, the sore eyes could be due to staying up all night rather than the clothes themselves. 

“Morrigan,” Nesta nodded to her, walking over to the tea selection next to the Fae. Before she could reach for a container, Morrigan pushed a full cup of hot tea into her hands. . 

“I already made some black tea,” she said. Nesta took a sip.  _ Oh fuck.  _ “I might have brewed it extra strong,” Morrigan shrugged. 

“Strong is good,” Nesta responded, taking another sip. Looking past the perfect red outfit, she could see how tired Morrigan looked - almost as tired as Nesta felt. She had bags under her eyes and her hair was all mussed. Through the smell of the tea, she could just barely pick up the smell of Hybern and blood. 

“How are they?” She asked. Morrigan sighed and took her own cup in both hands. 

“Azriel is resting, his wounds are healed but the poison left him weak. We expected him to be up days ago, but it’s taking longer than expected.” She took a sip of her tea. “And then Cassian… it’s a painful process.” Morrigan sighed again, “Hybern was a mess.” 

“No shit,” Nesta huffed into her mug. Morrigan glanced over at Nesta, looking her up and down, no doubt noting Nesta’s own bags. 

“How are you two holding up?” 

“We’re fine,” Nesta answered. 

Fine is a dirty four letter word. And it's not even fun to say. Fuck. Cunt. Shit. All fun to say, all emotive and expressive, all providing just a little bit of pleasure that takes the edge off of whatever is eating at you. But not “fine.” “Fine” isn’t fun to say. “Fine” is a lie you tell your in-laws to get them to stop prying into the mental state of your little sister. “Fine” is the lie you tell yourself when the truth hurts too damn much. 

They had been here a week now, and Elain hadn’t gotten better. She didn’t get worse, but there wasn’t much worse to get. She seemed to be floating between realities. When she was in this one, Elain was bitter and melancholic, snapping at Nesta for helping keep her alive. It hurt, spending multiple hours convincing your sister to eat a slice of bread wasn’t exactly pleasant, but at least Elain was  _ there _ . When she was in her other reality, Elain was a shell, unmoving and unreactive, looking elsewhere and speaking nonsense.

The only good news was that she was no longer visibly frightened of  _ Nesta _ . Everyone else seemed to be sorted firmly in the horrific category. In one of Nesta’s bids to actually have a conversation with her sister, she had decided to relay Rhysand’s last few updates to Elain. The mere mention of their new Fae in-laws was enough to make Elain grip her ears and start shaking. She dropped the subject after that and was suddenly  _ very _ glad she decided to keep them away from her. 

Morrigan kept looking at Nesta. She didn’t believe it, clearly. Nesta repeated herself. “We’re fine, Morrigan.” She nodded.

“Well I’m not,” her voice got stronger, angrier. “I’ve never felt more useless. My best friend got married and didn’t tell anyone. My High Lady is in enemy territory alone, the very territory I carried her out of just months ago. My other best friend won’t wake up, and another one is going through the most excruciating healing process I’ve ever seen. And all I can do is hop between their sick beds and wait.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. Nesta took a sip of her tea, looking Morrigan over. 

Morrigan of the Truth. As beautiful as the stories claimed, from the way she fought against Hybern as strong, too. A doer, a fighter, like Feyre. She solved problems, she got things done. She deserved more than half-hearted words of comfort, but for the life of her, Nesta couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. All she could think of was:

“You have  _ three  _ best friends?”

Morrigan let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough, spilling tea all over her hand and the floor. Nesta grabbed a cloth from a cabinet and handed it to her for the mess. Morrigan accepted the cloth and paused a moment, searching Nesta’s eyes for something. 

“Come with me.” 

“What?”    
  


“Come see Cassian.” Nesta looked at Morrigan like she had grown a second head, but she kept going. “He’s in pain. A lot of pain. I think he’s… I think seeing you would help.” 

“No,” Nesta turned away from her, back to the table. She had wasted enough time, letting Morrigan distract her. She came down here to prepare a tray for Elain’s breakfast. 

“No? What do you mean no?”    
  


“I mean no.” Nesta scooped some fruit into a bowl and poured another cup of tea, ignoring Morrigan’s silent outrage.

“Do you have any idea what he’s going through right now?” 

“Do you really think my presence would make him feel  _ better _ ?” Nesta shot back, adding some bread and spreads to the tray. Morrigan took in a breath. 

“If I said yes, would you come with me?” 

“No.”  _ Because you’d be wrong. _

“Fine.” The word was curt, stinging, and a lie. Morrigan turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen. Nesta sighed and picked up the tray she’d been preparing, heading back up to Elain’s room. 

* * *

It was mid-afternoon and Nesta went to answer a knock on her suite door, finding Rhysand and Azriel standing in the hallway. 

“What do you want?” Nesta kept the door open just enough for them to see her, but not enough for them to think she was possibly letting them in. Rhysand was standing at the door, hand raised. Azriel was behind him, leaning against the wall, a hand covering where his wound had been. He still seemed slightly out of breath, but he was up, a marked improvement from Morrigan’s description of his state just three days prior. 

Rhysand cleared his throat and said, “We need to talk to you and Elain.” Nesta opened her mouth to tell him fuck off but he cut her off. “I went to collect Jules and Verne.”

“Who are they and why do you need to talk to  _ us  _ about them?”    
  


“They were the guards we assigned to you,” Rhysand explained, a bit more gently. 

Azriel made the request more clear. “We need you two to tell us what happened, anything you remember.” 

Nesta stood up straight, closing the door slightly. “I would assume the state of my house could tell you everything.” 

“Unfortunately not. The house was barren, all evidence wiped away, I couldn’t even smell that my soldiers were there,” Rhysand got closer to the door, holding it open and standing over her. 

_ Clean up.  _ Apparently it did. Apparently it was very, very good at it.

“We need to know what you know. Who grabbed you, what they could do. We need to make sure we can protect against it in the future,” Azriel explained from behind his High Lord.. Nesta looked under Rhysand’s arm at him, his wound, and then back to Rhysand, who looked more apprehensive than usual. Nesta opened the door slightly, enough for Rhysand and Azriel to have a full view of her face. 

At 3, Nesta - already too smart and too arrogant for her own good - decided to learn how her mother managed to look down on people taller than her. By 23, Nesta had mastered the look and made it her own. Her glare was as lethal as it was definitive. Rhysand stepped back. She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. 

“You will not be talking to Elain about this.” 

“Both of your perspectives will be useful here,” Azriel tried. 

“I highly doubt it, she was glamored the whole time.”    
  


“You were glamored?” Rhysand asked. 

“ _ Elain _ was glamoured,” Nesta kept her glare sharp. “Downstairs.” She walked past them, heading straight to the stairs. They followed. 

Nesta kept walkin down the stairs, past the dining room, the sitting room, right onto the balcony. She took a deep breath, looking out over the city, and turned to face the two men behind her. 

“Where would you like me to start?” 

Nesta regaled them with the events of that fateful day, starting with walking into her house to see Azalea once again sitting in her parlor. 

Rhysand interrupted her almost immediately, turning to Azriel, “What do we know about Azalea?” 

Azriel’s shadows coiled around his ear and he began reciting facts as though he was reading them straight from a report. “Azalea, a Ghillie Dhu strongly gifted with glamors. The Spring Court Human Emissary, officially, though the role is closer to my own - just focused on the Humans. Necessary, given the court’s proximity to their lands. He started working south of the wall a little over a hundred years ago.” 

“Should I continue, or do you want to keep talking about things you already know?” 

Rhysand visibly winced and gestured for her to keep going. She described what happened to the Illyrians he left to guard her and Elain. Neither man spoke, but she could see Rhysand’s grip tighten on his knee as she went on. When she noted Azalea’s flower warnings, Azriel interrupted her this time. 

“He didn’t glamor you?” 

Nesta shrugged, “Would I even know?” 

“Depends on the glamour,” Rhysand explained. “Glamours on memory become apparent when they are broken, glamours on perception may go unnoticed depending on when they were broken. For instance, when we glamour our appearance to hide, if we don’t drop the glamour until we leave, then there is really no way to know it happened.” 

“Based on your description of Elain’s behavior, and his messages to you, it can be assumed he either didn’t think the glamours would work, or simply did not even try to glamour you,” Azriel’s ability to keep his expression and voice even was probably his best skill. 

“Would he have any reason to believe his glamours wouldn’t work?” Rhysand asked. 

_ Yes _ . Nesta studied Velaris, the boats moving along the river, the artists and musicians and merchants setting up shop on street corners. “Who knows?” She could feel Azriel and Rhysand’s suspicions, but they didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, they asked her to continue her accounts. 

Nesta kept her focus on those merchants and artists and musicians as she told the story in as little detail as possible. Ianthe’s threats, breaking Elain’s glamour, the ashwood daggers, and the last order given as they were taken away. “Sounds like Azalea followed orders well,” Nesta finished. 

Long moments of silence trailed the completion of Nesta’s story, then finally… 

“He had 50 years of experience under Amaranthra, so it appears he’s gotten very good at it,” Rhysand grumbled. Then, quietly, he said to Nesta. “I am sorry.” 

Nesta felt her lip twitch in its scowl. She turned back to Rhysand, expression deathly calm for all the rage that danced in her eyes. 

“Caroline Cowell, John Lionel, Evan Darrow, Roberta Laurent, Jenny Holiday, Victoria Rosen, Rachel McNally, Connor Reeds, Henry Lamich, James Carver, Harper Dollin, Mildred Davier, Jack Whey, Patrick Till, Owen Reese, Zachary Lewis. For which of these lives are you apologizing?” 

Azriel jumped in to defend his High Lord.“ We didn’t know they would act through the Spring Court. We tried-” 

“Abigail Beddor, Richard Beddor, Carter Beddor, Matthew Beddor, Clare Beddor.” Nesta stared Rhysand down. “I believe they also deserve at least a mediocre and half-baked apology.” With these names, Rhysand got angry, angry enough that Nesta felt just a tinge of fear crawl up her spine. 

“You don’t need to remind me of those names. I know them well enough.” 

Nesta clawed her way through the fear. “I’ll bet you do. But did you know my staff’s? Did you know their lives and ambitions? Did you know the families they were supporting or the futures they had planned? Did you care? When you and Feyre came up with your half-baked plans, did you even consider the innocent lives you were putting at risk with your naive intrigues?” 

This time when she spat the venom at him, Rhysand did not shrink. He did not back down. He flexed his power, letting the magical night extinguish the shining daylight around them. Nesta had felt his power before, but now, with this new body and its senses, she could comprehend it. How large it was, how terrifying. 

“You may lay your guilt at my feet, Nesta Archeron,” wings of night flaring behind him. “but you will not take it out on Feyre.” 

“Rhys,” Az cut in, but his lord spoke over him.

“Feyre is my wife and High Lady here. Treat her with the respect she is owed. You are hurting, you have been wronged, I am sympathetic to you and your sister. You two will have a place here as long as you need. But you will not use Feyre as your emotional punching bag and remain a guest in my house.”    
  


Nesta breathed through her nose. So that’s what he thought of her? That’s what he thought she thought of her sister? And now what, she snarks off and gets kicked out, separated from Elain? What an egotistical, overprotective little bastard. 

“Fine,” she spat. 

* * *

“Dammit,” Nesta held a washcloth to her face and tilted her head back, hoping it would keep the blood from leaking out of her nose more than it already had. Trying to get Elain out of bed long enough to change her sheets usually was a fairly easy affair. Except today she decided to fucking wake up mid chair-transfer. The surprise at being moved coupled with the embarrassment as to  _ why  _ she was being moved caused enough of a tantrum to take them both down. Nesta’s head caught the side of the chair on the way down. 

A knock came at the door. Nesta leaned her head forward and removed the cloth. More blood came out of her nose. She leaned back again, holding in place. Another knock, more insistent this time. “Go away!” Nesta called, in no mood to deal with people. Getting Elain and her sheets clean with a bloody, probably broken nose was annoying enough, Rhysand or his happy gang of Fae would just be too much. 

The third knock came and Nesta stood and turned, a little too quickly, to go tell the knocker to fuck off. The sudden motion coupled with the blood loss made her a little light headed, and she swayed on her feet, losing her balance.

Before she hit the floor, arms were at her back, holding her up and the suite’s lock hit the floor in pieces. 

“What happened?” Cassian asked, attention jumping from the red-stained cloth in her hand, to the bloodied dress, to her obviously broken nose.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Nesta squirmed in his arms, trying to get out. Noting her struggle, Cassian helped her gently down to the couch, sitting beside her. 

No longer holding her, but still holding onto her, he said, “Nesta your nose is broken.” 

She squirmed a bit more, maneuvering herself away from his lovely embrace. “I tripped, it’s fine.” 

Cassian brought his hands back to himself, “You tripped?” 

Nesta put the cloth back on her nose, tilting her head back again and looking down at Cassian. “I tripped.” 

The concern didn’t leave his eyes as he smiled at her absurd appearance. “You can’t stop for a moment can you?” Nesta always had to be right, always had to be dignified, always had to be in control, even with blood pouring out of her nose. Nesta was always Nesta. “You aren’t going to heal a broken nose like that.” She continued to glare at him over the cloth. “Let me.” Very gently, Cassian placed his hand on Nesta’s, lifting it away from her face. With his other hand, he took hold over nose. “Sorry,” he said as he snapped it back into place, sending a spark of power to knit the cartilage back together. 

“Ow!” Nesta shouted, but the pain subsided before she finished the exclamation. Cassian removed his hand from her, holding them out in front of him. Nesta lowered her head, feeling her nose with her fingers. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She nodded to his wings. The last time she saw Cassian, he was writhing on the floor, passing in and out of consciousness. The image was one of several that had kept her up at night over the past few weeks, and she’d be a damn liar if she said she didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of relief that he was now fully conscious, sitting next to her. 

Cassian spread out his wings behind him. The movement was stiff, especially compared to what she saw back home, and the flesh was littered with a web of scars, but they were in one piece. “Better.” He relaxed his wings, wincing slightly, but noticeably. Nesta decided not to comment. She shuffled back on the couch, sitting up straighter. 

“Why are you here?”  _ don’t go.  _

“Rhys told me you were here. I wanted to see how you were doing but…” he wrinkled his nose. She looked like Hell, and she knew it. Her braid was fraying, loose in many places, there were dark circles under eyes that just got worse and worse by the day, there were countless stains on her dress, not to mention the blood she just added to it. Then there was the stench of urine, sweat, and stagnant air that came from caring for an invalid and seeped into Nesta’s clothes. 

Meanwhile, he looked as good as ever. He seemed tired, but not terribly. His hair was up, only slightly wind-whipped. He wasn’t wearing his full leathers, but the casual black linen shirt was clean and cut perfectly for his broad chest and thick arms. It wasn’t fair that he appeared so decent while she felt like a filthy gremlin. The look he gave her, though. How do you not run from a look like that? 

“That bad, huh?” Three syllables, three seemingly simple syllables, laced with so much concern and guilt and affection that she started groping for her walls of rage and snark. She needed them, the buffer. But all she found was exhaustion and the realization that she really didn’t want to shoo him away. She wanted him here. She wanted to sit there with a person who could see her, walls or no. 

She’d feel conflicted about that later. 

“That bad,” Nesta sighed, sinking back into the couch cushions. No point in keeping up appearances right now. It wouldn’t work anyway. 

He tried and failed to hide his surprise at her sudden change in demeanor. “Can... Can I help?” he asked. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to spill her soul on the floor at his feet. Tell him how she had to bathe her 22 year old sister like a toddler. How it reminded her of her mother, and how bad everything got at the end. How she only had one day to process her own grief and anger and confusion before she had to shove that all aside and take on Elain’s. How she hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes since she was kidnapped from her home. Tell him there is a gnawing power in her bones that is waiting for her to lose control and unleash its wrath on the world, and at this point it’s only sheer stubbornness that is keeping it caged.

But all she said was. “I doubt it.”    
  


He kept watching her, and finally said, “It’s Elain, isn’t it?” Nesta inspected the giant red spot on her skirt, feeling the mix of fresh and dried blood that had set into the fabric. There was little point in hiding what he could probably hear and smell from the next room, but she still couldn’t confirm it, couldn’t lay out her sister’s problems to someone else. Cassian extended a hand out to her, pausing before it touched her shoulder and pulled it back slightly. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. You can depend on us a little.” 

“More than we are now?” Nesta needed a scotch. Something to swish in her hands and overpower the taste of the words in her mouth. 

Cassian settled back into the couch, trying far too hard to act casual. ”When was the last time you slept?” 

“Who sleeps in the City of Starlight?” 

“Nesta,” he scolded. “Have you slept? Have you even taken a break?” 

_ Tried, failed, don’t want to try again, really.  _ “Is that not what this is?” 

“I’m flattered, but we both know I don’t _relax_ you.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and smiled just a bit. Easy. This was so easy. Sitting here with Cassian, everything felt right. Things weren’t better, but somehow his presence just made them bearable. Suddenly Nesta was back in town, sitting in Clare’s shop, watching her pin a sleeve into a dress. It felt easy then, too. Comfortable. Then she was back in the ashwood grove, watching Elain and Graysen talk and flirt. It seemed effortless for them, as well. She didn’t see Jenny and Connor together often, but when they did a bad job of hiding, they seemed so…

Dead. 

They were fucking dead. 

But not Elain. Not yet. 

She had wasted enough time here. Elain was still alone in her room, still needed her. Nesta stood up quickly, too quickly. Too much blood loss still, too little sleep. She felt herself sway and then Cassian was back at her side, holding her up. 

“Nesta you need to rest.” 

“I can’t rest. I need to check on Elain, see if needs me.”

“At this moment, I guarantee she doesn’t.” Cassian turned her to face him, his hands lightly gripping her upper arms, “Take a break Nesta. Clean yourself, change, get some sleep.” 

“I can’t sleep,” Nesta’s voice broke and she felt a smattering of cold tears well up in her eyes. “I can’t sleep without seeing them.”

Cassian knew who Nesta was referring to without any other detail, but hearing it still took the wind out of him. He clutched her shoulders, holding her at arms length but not letting go. 

“Az told me what happened,” His head fell forward, hanging slack between his arms. “I’m sorry. I should have been there.” 

_ You should have been. You promised to protect them.  _

“And in Hybern, I should have” 

_ You should have abandoned Azriel and Morrigan to die and come save me and my sister from being shoved into an unending nightmare like you fucking promised to do.  _

Nesta clenched her fist so hard she drew blood. “Don’t.” She snarled. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.” The words came out hard, hard enough Cassian stood up straight. As the blood squeezed through her fingers, Nesta went on. “Azalea is to blame. Ianthe is to blame. Hybern is to blame. Those queens are to blame. And they will pay for it.” 

She watched as the guilt and concern in his face reshaped into a harsh determination. “Just say the word.” 

Nesta had her first guilt-free smile in weeks. It was viscous and vengeful, but it was guilt-free. She relaxed her grip, wincing as her nails withdrew from the tender flesh of her palms. The pain served as a nice distraction from the momentary bloodlust. She inspected her hands, each one had four identical crescent-shaped claw marks, but the bleeding had already stopped. 

“First the nose, now this? Let me see your hands.”

Nesta drew her hands close to her chest and turned up to Cassian. “Why?” 

“Because you already look enough like hell, and I can fix your hands.” 

“They’re already healed.”

“No they’re not.” 

“Yes they are, look,” Nesta shoved her hands in his face, presenting the newly-scabbed injury, already well on its way to being good as new. Cassian took them, wrapping his fingers around the back of her hands and lightly brushing his thumb over the meat of her thumb. His thumb brushed back and forth, calluses gently scraping over her own on the center of her palm. Nesta shivered at the touch as light red magic danced on her skin. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asked, looking directly at her with those all-too-knowing eyes. 

“That is the third time you’ve asked me that,” she answered trying to withdraw her hand. He held firm, not strong, but deliberate. 

“And I’m not letting go until you answer me. Have you slept  _ at all _ ?”  _ No.  _ She stared at him, he must have seen the apprehension in her eyes, because he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Nesta.” 

“I already told you I can’t sleep.” He turned her hands over, intertwining their fingers and not letting go. Simple. Sweet. Grounding. 

“Would you like to?” he asked.  _ Yes, desperately.  _

“What did you have in mind?” 

Some base part of Nesta had hoped his answer would be dirty, especially when he led her to the bedroom. But he just had her go get changed while he stood facing the door a respectable distance away. When she was in a clean shift and her hair was down, he told her to lie down on the bed face down without so much as a leer at her breasts. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, getting in the bed. One knee on either side of her, careful to not put any weight on Nesta herself, his hands came down to her back and began the slow and steady work of massaging her over the shift. “When I was 15, I had finished my combat training and had to begin learning military strategy,” his voice was little more than a whisper. “The first thing we learned was definitions. A phalanx is a formation of 8 or more soldiers standing arm to arm with shields and polearms. It is very powerful for ground units, though its limited mobility can be an issue.” 

Cassian continued to list inane military strategy and definitions whilst rubbing Nesta’s back, arms, neck, and temples. His voice, even and soft, was a never ending fountain of the most boring parts of war Nesta could ever think to hear. She tried to talk back to him at one point, but he shushed her. So she listened, taking in the virtually mundane topic as she let Cassian’s gentle ministrations relax her tension. At some point, the words started to blend together, and she just took in the sound of his voice, and then, nothing, just a restful darkness. 

Nesta woke up the next day, alone, but more rested than she had been in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we still have 5 more weeks with the inner circle until Feyre returns. 
> 
> I spent so, so much time on the Nessian scene and so much of it was me just like, "I can't have them actually cuddle yet, can I? Nah. Back rubs and military strategy, next best thing." 
> 
> We're out of election week hell, so my brain should be able to refocus back to this.


	33. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta starts researching Prythian and Magic.

“Breakfast.” Nesta used her hip to gently close the door behind her as she brought the tray into Elain’s room. Her sister was sitting up, to no one’s surprise. Before last night, neither of them were sleeping much. What was surprising, however, was the look in Elain’s eyes. That, coupled with the lack of urine smell meant Elain was probably lucid through most of the night.  _ Best not to draw attention to it _ . Nesta set the tray on her bedside table and went to the window. 

“Cassian was here late.” 

“Oh, you’re talking to me now, are you?” Nesta said as hauled open the window to let the fresh late spring air in. She turned around to see Elain looking rather annoyed at her older sister.  _ Good, Elain  _ **_is_ ** _ there _ . Nesta sighed. “Do you want me to keep him out of the suite?” 

“It’s up to you.” 

“It’s our suite, it’s up to both of us.” Nesta walked back over the bed and picked up an apple, handing it to Elain. “Eat.” Elain took it, fidgeting with it instead of actually biting into it. But she took it. That in and of itself was a marked improvement over the usual morning fight.

Elain studied the apple, rolling it around between her palms. “How did you do it?” 

  
Nesta came over and sat next to her sister. “Do what?” she asked. 

“Forgive him.” Nesta didn’t miss that Elain’s gaze changed from studying the apple to studying her ring. 

“I didn’t.” 

“Then why did you let him stay?”    
  


Nesta shrugged.  _ Because he gets it. _ “Because the only people who need to pay for what happened to us is Hybern and those queens. And they will, Elain. I will make sure-”

“No you won’t,” Elain leaned back into her pillow, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Go have your vengeance fantasies somewhere else.”

She knew she over stepped it. Elain hated all talk of power or vengeance or anything that might lend someone to believe they were  _ different  _ now. But no matter, annoyed Elain was easier to work with. And this was a long time for her to be lucid enough to be annoyed. Better make it count. Nesta crossed her left arm over her lap and leaned her chin on her right hand, casting a sidelong glance at her sister. “You want me to leave?”    
  


“Yes.”    
  


“Then eat.” 

“I want to be alone.”

“Eat.”    
  


“ _ Leave _ ”    
  
“I’m not leaving until you eat,” Nesta let a little playful goading come to her voice. Elain glared at her. Fighting with Elain - and Feyre - had once been a daily pastime. When they were kids, they fought over who won games and who got the best candy, normal sibling stuff. After their mother died, and the money dried up, fighting was harsher, meaner, but Nesta was grateful for every single shouting match. Anger meant they were alive, that they weren’t their father, that they hadn’t given up. Nesta learned exactly how to incite their ire. 

Feyre, the youngest and most desperate to prove herself with skill, was the easiest to piss off. Insult her talent, stand back, and watch those hackles rise. Elain was trickier. Insulting her just made her cry. No, pissing her off required tapping into Elain’s only flaw, her selfishness. Wait until she has something she wants, and deny her it. 

It was also the easiest way to win a fight. 

With a scowl, Elain took a bite. Through a full mouth, she said “Don’t feel obligated to come back soon.”    
  


“Finish the apple and I will leave you alone all day.” Nesta lied. 

Elain finished the apple. 

* * *

Leaving Elain alone all day simply was not an option, no matter what she told her. But there was no arguing that Elain seemed better this morning, after 18 hours alone. Perhaps there was a compromise here. Checking in versus keeping watch. Being available when needed, but not always being there. 

Nesta walked down the two flights of stairs, past the foyer, to the third staircase down. If she wasn’t going to spend the day babysitting her sister, then she needed something else to do. There was probably nothing material she could accomplish before Feyre returned, but there was a stupid large library in this house. Research seemed like the logical next step. 

She pushed open the door, taking in the magnificent sight of this spectacular library once more. This room was still as close to perfect as any singular location could be. Nesta wandered through the sections, trying to figure out where to start. She paused in front of a series of shelves labeled “Magicks”. 

The pool of power stirred a bit as she reached for a book labeled  Magick: An Introduction to the Gifts from the Cauldron .  _ It can’t be that easy. _ She walked over to a chair by the window, took a seat in the daylight, and opened it to the first page. 

_ Magick is the gift that defines and elevates the Fae. Our gift from the Mother and the Cauldron, distinguishing us from the baser life forms on our planet. However, many of us take our gifts for granted, and do not take the time to understand the nature and origin of our power. In this text, we will examine the history of magic as well as how its forms differ - from the variety of power available to the High Fae to the limited capacity available to the Lesser Fae. _

No, it was not that easy. 

But it was still enlightening, and probably a necessary starting point. It was hard to tell what was actual history and what was myth. According to the text, all magic stemmed from the Cauldron, ladelled out by the nameless mother figure at the beginning of time. Based on context, Nesta assumed she was their creation goddess. Unfortunately, the quality of the text quickly deteriorated from there. What started out as a mythical explanation for the origin of magic morphed into a justification for the subjugation of lesser fae races due to the disparity in magical gifts. 

_ Clearly the immense power granted to the High Lords and the High Fae by the Mother indicates Her will that they rule over the Lesser.  _

Seeing the polarity of opinion around the High and Lesser Fae fit in with what Cassian and Rhysand had explained in that first dinner. Interesting, now was the disparity in power due to the subjugation or was the subjugation due to the disparity in power? Nesta had read enough history books as a child to know that winners wrote the story. If magic was a resource that could be gifted, transferred, and taken like money, who’s to say it wasn’t hoarded like money?

_ Lesser Fae show gratitude with their miniscule gift, however, as even the smallest drop of magic separates them from chattel species such as Humans - granted sentience and nothing more.  _

Nesta slammed the book closed.  _ And that’s enough of that.  _ She turned her attention out the window. The sun was now high overhead. 10 chapters and a whole morning wasted. She should have seen it coming when it started going on about magic justifying the absolute rule of the High Lords. Of course it would condone the severe treatment of “baser” species. Damn Fae pricks. 

Nesta’s stomach grumbled. She got up and stretched before reshelving the text. It wasn’t entirely a wasted effort. The book did introduce a wide variety of lesser fae by their “sub-classifications”. Illyrians, Wraiths, Suriel, Ghillie Dhu, and others. There were hundreds of types of Fae, beyond the High Fae. And some seemed to have power distinct from even their Courts… whatever  _ that  _ meant. 

Nesta swung by the History shelves. It was also clear from the text that magic was ingrained in Fae culture and history, and if she was going to understand anything the magic texts talked about, she would need a robust knowledge of their history.. Nesta pursued the shelves until she found a promising book,  A Brief History of Prythian . Nesta tucked it under her arm and left the library to grab lunch.

In the kitchen was a lovely spread of summer sausages and hard cheeses. Nesta prepared a small plate and went to the balcony. She debated fixing a plate for Elain, but she still had the rest of the breakfast Nesta was careful to prepare for her, in case she got hungry. And from the sound of things, she was still fine up there. So there was nothing stopping Nesta from taking her small meal, a glass of wine, perching on the balcony with the perfect view of the bustling city below, and reading about the history of Prythian. 

  
  


Anyone who thought Nesta was selfish or arrogant had clearly never read a Fae history text. They truly believed themselves to be the Cauldron’s gift to the world. Every accomplishment was lauded as more impressive than the last, every mistake or misstep was the result of misfortune or the machinations of a more powerful or divinely blessed being. Even when they described the building of the palaces, each one was described as “perfect design and engineering, embodying the spirit of their court, despite the fragile human physique interrupting construction.” Nesta finished her glass of wine on that line. 

Luckily, the next book she picked up was far more nuanced. This one was less a general outline and more a thesis on the early history and formation of the courts. Nesta was back in the library for the second day in a row. She brought food with her this time, curling up in a chair, popping a grape every couple of pages. The window was open, providing a gentle breeze and the whisper of a city’s commotion. 

The more advanced text still had a clear bias, but it was much more subdued. Less “the High Lords are powerful because of course Fae lords are powerful,” and more “The High Lords are the most powerful beings in their respective courts, embodying the magic that defines that court.” The text was also clear that there was little understanding of what caused the High Lords to be High Lords. Most of the time, the power was hereditary, but not always. There was some evidence that it went to the strongest HIgh Fae, but again, there were exceptions. They weren’t always good rulers, either. Even what came first, the court or the lord, was up for debate. 

“Whatcha reading?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised when the question came. She had heard Cassian flap his way up to the House of Wind for the past few minutes, and his body was now blocking the sunlight from the window. 

“Not even going to use the door?” Nesta didn’t look up. She could feel Cassian’s attention at her back. Without the crushing exhaustion from two weeks’ lack of sleep, she was far more aware of the electricity that seemed to pass between them. She had exposed far too much of herself, physically and emotionally, when she was too tired to care about it. 

“I was going to, but then I saw you out of your room and wanted to make sure the world hadn’t ended.” 

“Elain let me know she would prefer alone time,” Nesta turned another page. “You’re blocking my light.” There was the rustle of Cassian moving around, but the sunlight once again hit the page. She finally spared a glance his way, trying to be subtle. He was still outside, but he had dropped down so his arms were hooked on the sill, his head resting on top of them. He was looking up at her with hazel eyes that caught the sunlight in perfect refraction, the same light that caught in those red gems and warmed his perfect tan skin. 

“That better, sweetheart?” Nesta fought the urge to stroke those perfect cheekbones and looked away before anything like a blush could grace her own. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, how would you prefer I refer to you,  _ Nesta, _ ” she could hear the grin on his face. When he said her name she could have sworn fingers brushed over her breasts.  _ Dangerous. _

“I’d prefer if you  _ didn’t  _ refer to me.” 

More rustling, and then the sound of boots hitting the floor.  _ There goes the good light.  _

“Nice to know the nap helped.” His voice was still taunting, but the undercurrent of concern was there. And it was offensive. That she let him see her that out of it, that tired, and he still cared, was offensive. 

She turned back around, trying to glare up at him, and there he was in all his glory. Back in skin-tight leather armor, leaning against the window sill, armed crossed casually across his chest.  _ Do not think about those hands. Do not think about how good they felt. Do not.  _

“Are you here for a reason, or just to bother me?” 

“Az and are going to spar a bit in the training ring. You are welcome to join us.”

Nesta made a little show of going back to her book. “What about me made you think that would be something I’m interested in?” 

“Suit yourself… maybe I’ll ask Elain if she wants to learn to fight.” 

Nesta sat up, crossing her legs and calling upon her mother’s harsh glares once again. She closed the book around her finger to save the location and crossed her hands over her lap. “Leave Elain alone.” 

Cassian watched her for a moment, searching in her eyes for something. Whatever he found there, it was enough to get him to change the topic. Cassian tilted his head, reading the title of the book, “ From the Cauldron to the Court: A Look at the Early History and Formation of Prythian . You know we have actual entertaining books in this library, right?” 

“Please. Point me in the direction of  _ How to be a General for Stupid Bats _ ,” Nesta said as dryly as possible, sitting back and reopening her book. 

“Interested in  _ military _ strategy then?” The emphasis on the word military was enough to remind Nesta how she got to sleep last. And what Cassian was doing at that time. She couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across her face, no matter how hard she tried to keep calm and focus on the book in front of her. “Hmm?” Cassian closed the distance between them, leaning over Nesta and placing a hand on the back of the chair behind her head. 

So close, he was so close now. She could feel his breath warm in her ear, his hair draping down to tickle her face. Whatever pull she felt to him before was amplified a thousand fold now that she could really sense him. Everything from his heartbeat to his smell was magnetic, electric. 

Nesta did not have a good answer here. There was what she wanted to do, tell him to fuck off and knee him in the nuts again. Then there was what she  _ should  _ do, tell him to fuck off and then thank him for the help the other day. Then there was what she  _ wanted  _ to do, nibbling on his ear that was so conveniently close to her mouth and asking him to spend the night properly this time. And in this moment, self control and boundaries seemed to be a foreign concept, something for other people, and not Nesta and Cassian. 

Before Nesta could think about it more, her mouth moved on its own, biting on the shell of Cassian’s ear - hard. He darted back in surprise, a hand going to his ear, right as the door to the library opened. He looked at her in shock and disbelief, a gorgeous shade of red blessing his face, as Azriel called from the doorway.    
  


“You’re the one that wanted to train up here, Cass. How much longer are you going to make me wait?”    
  


Nesta just smiled up at Cassian, nestling back into the couch with her book, all confidence and victory. “He was just leaving,” she called out to Azriel, challenging Cassian to contradict her. 

He didn’t. Still blushing, his look of stunned stupidity giving way to a conspiratorial grin. She could see the message in his eyes as he told Azriel he was on his way.  _ We are not done. _

_ I hope not,  _ Nesta thought to herself. 

* * *

After gaining a solid understanding of Fae history, Nesta thought she’d try the magic text books again. While they made a little more sense now, there was still little that she could glean in the way of useful knowledge. While some had specific instructions and spells, all of the texts agreed that the nature of a person’s magic was inherent to their being and their Court. High Fae had the most versatility in their magic, with primary gifts tied to their Court and a host of secondary gifts that could appear regardless of Court - though again, these gifts still seemed colored by the Court of origin. 

None of this was particularly useful to her. Nesta had no Court, her power was not hers from birth. The more she researched, the clearer it became that the only way to learn what her power was to let it out and see what it could do. The thought excited the well within, enough that she absolutely knew she could not do that. There was no telling what havoc it would wreak, or more importantly, if it would be expended permanently in the process. 

Nesta sighed and pulled out the last book that seemed like it could be in any way useful:  Prisoners, the Weaver, and other Aberrations. She tucked it in her arm and went upstairs to check on Elain. 

“Still reading boring books I see,” Cassian was sitting in the living room, paging through his own small pack of papers. 

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Nesta rolled her eyes, changing directions from the stairs to the sitting room. This was the fifth consecutive visit from him in less than twice as many days. ‘

“Actually, yes,” Cassian flipped the paper he was holding around, reading the back. “But seeing as I am not cleared for distance flying, I’m stuck in the city - and on babysitting duty.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Nesta said as she plopped down on a chair next to him. 

“Yes you do,” he responded. She flipped him off and cracked open the book. With Cassian here, going upstairs to check on Elain was risky. And her afternoon plans of forcing a bath and a meal were out of the question.

“Not checking on Elain then?” he asked. 

Nesta turned the page. “Wasn’t planning on it, just wanted a change of scenery.” Cassian might have learned passive-aggressive page turning, but he was nowhere near the master of it that Nesta was. She felt his eyes on her. 

“You can go take care of her, I won’t tell.” 

“Don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Of course.” 

Nesta knew he wouldn’t tell anyone, that he probably already had a vague idea of how bad it was. That he had seen her publicly and privately humiliated, knew some of her deepest secrets, and had said nothing about it. But there was a world of difference between airing out her own dirty laundry, and airing out her sisters. 

So Nesta stayed in the living room, reading her book while Cassian dealt with his paperwork. They didn’t speak much, but there wasn’t a need to. He was keeping his distance, she could only assume it was because of the bite. She had probably overstepped there, though why he was throwing such a hissy fit over her biting him after he had kissed her neck in their first private meeting was beyond her. Men can be such babies. 

She heard him set the papers down and stand. Looking up, Cassian was stretching his body and wings out with a grunt. His wings extended and filled up the space. He was quite large, she observed. She knew that, but seeing him fully like this made it overwhelmingly clear. 

“Like what you see?” he asked, catching her stare. 

“In your dreams,” Nesta shot back. 

“Every night,” Cassian muttered, too quickly and too quietly for it to have been a planned response. 

_ Deescalate. Please. Too much, too quickly.  _ “2 hours before flirting, that must be a record,” Nesta said, a bit too shaky.

“Eh, I had work to do,” Cassian shrugged, graciously agreeing to her silent request. “A foreign concept to you, I’m sure.”    
  


“I ran a 1500 acre estate, paperwork is an old friend.” 

“Writing letters for your daddy’s estate isn’t-” 

“Mine.” Nesta cut in. 

“What?” Cassian cocked his head. 

“It was in my name, the estate was mine.” Nesta hadn’t said the words out loud since she negotiated Elain’s engagement. Cassian processed the information. It didn’t really change anything. Who the estate belonged to was a nominal detail in the tragedy of their downfall. But for some reason she really wanted someone, wanted Cassian, to know that when she put her home at risk, it was  _ her _ home. 

“Do you want to train? I can teach you to fight, defend yourself.”  _ Nothing else needs to be taken from you.  _

A small part of Nesta seriously considered the offer. There was no reason to say no. The little girl who liked to get in fist fights over historical figures was begging Nesta to say yes. No one was around to stop her, see her, scold her. She wasn’t even human anymore, why the hell should she worry about still being a lady? 

But that power. That damned power. It craved violence and action. If something happened in training, if she slipped up and accidentally released it, she could hurt Cassian or Elain, or this city. Best to keep still and not kill anyone. So Nesta scolded the part of her that wanted to try it, leaning back on the 23 years of conditioning that made her who she was, using it to tamp down the power, and turned down Cassian’s request. 

_ Ladies do not fight. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta: One flirtatious move and men just avoid you. Such babies   
> Also Nesta: *Freaks out at any sign of intimacy*


	34. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta talks to her childhood hero, reads an interesting book, and shoves food in her sister's faces. 
> 
> Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts

Prisoners, the Weaver, and other Aberrations  was the opposite of useful. The book was more a list of what was unknown about each aberration than what was known. Even the creatures with whole chapters instead of whole paragraphs had little more than a list of atrocities attributed to it than an in-depth analysis of the nature of its power it. For almost all of them, that power was simply described as “Dark and horrible, unnatural to the order of things.”

Nesta stared at the bookshelf, attempting to will a useful-seeming text into existence. The shelf didn’t change. A new book didn’t appear. 10 days of non-stop research, and she was just standing there, right back at square one. Nesta sighed. 

“Picking a book?” 

Morrigan walked into the library, red chiffon trailing her every step. The grace and confidence her gait restored from what Nesta saw last time. She came up beside Nesta, settling her hands behind her back. 

Nesta refocused her attention back to the shelf. “Trying to.”

“Feyre also had a hard time picking out what to read after she first arrived.” 

“I’m sure,” Nesta muttered, more or less oblivious to Morrigan’s fastidious gaze, focusing on the task at hand. _What now, if the magic books have nothing? Maybe I should try the history texts again._ Nesta drifted away where she was standing, walking over to the history section, vaguely aware that Morrigan was following her.

“You know, your sister wanted us to meet, have a real chance to talk.” 

Nesta stopped in her tracks. "Real.” She turned to Morrigan, “You’re real.” 

“I...am?” 

Nesta took off in the opposite direction from where she was originally walking. Morrigan followed her to a set of shelves labeled “Legends and Epics.” She stepped closer to it. “I read about you as a kid. Morrigan of the Truth was mentioned in the histories, of course, but most of the stories about you were in the epics.” Nesta had spent many days hidden above others, reading about the exploits of her childhood hero. Nesta looked back at Morrigan. “And you are real, you fought in the war, you did know the ancient queens, and your power is truth.” Maybe the details were hazy, but the broad strokes seemed fairly accurate. Textbooks deal in known fact, if what she was looking for was more obscure, or hard to prove, then perhaps _legends_ were a better bet. 

“You read about me?” 

Nesta felt a slight blush in her cheeks, but schooled it down. _Crap, make it sound casual. You weren’t my childhood hero. Just a well-known historical figure I learned about in passing_. “It’s actually more common to find stories about you than even Miryam.” 

“Really?” The disbelief was palpable. Nesta was right in her assumption that these heroes had no idea how they were remembered by humans. 

Nesta shrugged. “According to our history, Miryam and Drakon died tragically before the Treaty was even drafted. You, however, stuck around through the war _and_ negotiations. Some stories even credit you for the lack of kings.” She looked back to the shelves, hoping that she managed to sound impersonal. 

“What does the lack of kings have to do with me?” 

Nesta bent down, noticing a book of fables about the Weaver’s Wood. “According to one story of Elbe’s founding, the first queen Andromache refused to marry because she was waiting for you, and tradition carried it on.” Nesta took the book off the shelf and stood, “If you ask me though, it probably had more to do with Fae only having _male_ High Lords.” As lovely as the poem was, it was almost universally lambasted for overstating the influence of their relationship on continental government, as well as its portrayal of a Fae/Human relationship. It only had staying power due to the rumors that the author was Andromache herself, though those had no basis Nesta knew. 

It was then that Nesta noticed the mortification on her face. 

“ _All_ of that in your histories?” she asked, a hint of panic in her voice. Nesta cocked her head, curious at Morrigan’s reaction. 

“The _Romance of Elbe_ is more of a poem-.” 

“The **_Romance_ ** _of Elbe?”_ Morrigan’s voice rose an octave as she said the words. Nesta nodded.

“It is just a story, historians have doubted its validity for ages. By your reaction, I’m assuming its-” 

“False, entirely false,” Morrigan said the words hastily, then took a breath, calming herself. “I knew Andromache, of course, but saying she never married because of me?” She huffed, “She _did_ marry, for one.”

Nesta could have let this topic drop. She should have let this drop. But what was the point of having knowledge if you weren’t going to show it off to your childhood heros? Especially when every part of their body language was screaming that one of the greatest love poems had more truth in it than history suggested. “Not legally, she didn’t. None of the queens marry their male consorts, otherwise the continent would have kings. They aren’t even supposed to marry their female consorts, but about half have anyway.” 

Morrigan paused for a moment, processing that information with an inscrutable expression. She turned her head and squinted at Nesta. “You know a lot about the continent.” 

Nesta shrugged again. “My father did business there, it was something I had to learn.” Morrigan didn’t need to know how much Nesta enjoyed learning it. Or how many times she read the Romance of Elbe. And the longer this conversation carried on, the more likely she was to let slip _exactly_ how much she read about her. Nesta walked over to her usual reading spot and changed the topic. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?“

“Feyre wanted us to meet, talk.” 

Nesta raised her eyebrows at Morrigan. Surprised and slightly touched. “Really?” She said as she sat down. She hadn’t realized Feyre was old enough to remember her big sister’s childhood hero. Their mother had curbed Nesta’s habit of chattering on about her fixations when Feyre was still fairly small. 

“She thought that you - Elain too - would like to hear my story.” Morrigan took a seat next to Nesta. “Though if you ask me, the story is only worth telling if you know me.” 

Nesta set her book down next to her. “Reading 500 year old legends doesn’t count for that, does it?” _Dammit._   
  


“It does not, no. But maybe in time,” Morrigan rested her head in her hand, leaning forward and studying her companion. There was something in her expression, something Nesta couldn’t quite place. It was almost sadness, but softer than that. “Why didn’t you want to see Cassian?”

_Can we go back to trying to determine whether or not you were Andromache’s lover?_ Nesta opened her book, unwilling to discuss Cassian or her decisions with regards to him with anyone, no matter how much she had idolized them. Maybe especially because she had idolized them. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”   
  


“He is one of my oldest friends. And he was torn to shreds, Nesta. You can’t blame him for what happened-” 

“It doesn’t matter if I blame him or not,” Nesta cut her off, speaking without volume or harshness, just resigned frankness. “He failed. Everything else is irrelevant. He failed.” Failure was something Nesta knew well. Whether or not it was inevitable didn’t matter. He failed. No words of comfort, true or not, would make him feel better about it. Seeing Nesta, exhausted and traumatized, transformed into something new and deadly, would only remind him of that failure. It wouldn’t have even been self-serving kindness. Seeing another person, broken and bedbound, would have just brought more pain to both of them. 

“You wouldn’t give him an ounce of comfort because you think he failed?” Morrigan’s judgement was palpable. 

“I _can’t_ give him an ounce of comfort because he _knows_ he failed.” 

Morrigan took in the words, considering. She seemed to accept that answer, even if the sour expression made it clear she didn’t like it. “If that was the case, then why does he keep visiting?” 

“Because he’s still a masochistic dumb bat,” Nesta answered, reopening her book. 

Morrigan sighed and looked out the window. “Yeah, he is.”

* * *

Weaver’s Wood and Other Fables  proved to be only slightly more useful but wholly more fascinating than the dry history texts. Though her enjoyment might have more to do with the schadenfreude of reading about countless fae “heros” convincing themselves that they would be the one to conquer the Weaver and drive her out of her cottage. Some succeeded in retrieving items from the cottage, either with wits or fair deals, but all who tried to kill or conquer her found themselves joining her terrible tapestries. 

What the Weaver could do changed from story to story. Some described her as weaving the lives of others, cutting a string to kill her foes. Some said she just willed them to be dead. Some said her power was in boiling down the body to retrieve and feast on the soul. All different, all contradictory, all a closer look at what the textbooks called “great and terrible.” Nesta had another word for it: “Eldridge.” 

What was more interesting, though, was the age and relation of the tales. Some repeated themselves with different characters, or mentioned that this was only one tale with a particular hero. One in particular mentioned the Weaver being one of three. She read the book cover to cover, and couldn’t find any mention of the other two - or any hint as to what they might be like. So she started looking into the heroes with multiple tales, hoping one might cross with the Weaver’s other parts. Starting with the rare heroin, Cessair. 

Cessair was an early Fae who traveled from Prythian to various locations around the world, leaving seeds of Lesser Fae where she went. Most of her legends surrounded the exploits that led to the creation of these fae, and had her travelling for curiosity. But one mentioned she was traveling with her husband, Fintan, to escape the endless pursuit of her mate, Parthalon. Nesta bumped on that information. 

“Cassian,” she called out from the couches by the training ring she was currently sprawled out on. 

Cassian stopped his stretches for a moment and called back “What?” 

“Is a mate not a spouse?” She asked. 

He tilted his head and then jumped off the ground, flaring his wings momentarily before walking lazily over to her. He stopped when he was positioned just over her head, smiling down at her. “Why ever do you want to know?”   
  


She squinted at him. It was a bad idea to ask him, but he was the only one of the Inner Circle that visited regularly anymore. And she did want to know. She held up her book, hoping it would be a bit of a barrier between them. “It says Cessair had a husband and a mate, simultaneously. Are they not the same thing?” 

Cassian slid down so he was sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “They are not. Marriages are only legal unions. Mating bonds run deeper than that.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Cassian considered. “There is a connection, a tether that holds the mates together. It draws them to one another, even before either feels it. We call that tether the mating bond. It is more sacred than any legal union.” Nesta considered it. Cassian’s explanation certainly made the legends and histories make more sense. It also meant that what happened at Hybern…

  
“Feyre and Rhysand were mates,” Nesta stated, repressing the memories of that damn throne room. 

“Feyre and Rhysand _are_ mates,” Cassian corrected. “Hybern broke a bargain Rhys and Feyre struck Under the Mountain, impressive, but not the same. Mating bonds run too deep, are too strong. They are decided by the Cauldron, no force can break them, not even Hybern.”   
  


Her power flinched at the mention of its previous master. Despite her best efforts to suppress the memories, visions of the throne room came to her. And she was back there, noting Lucien’s vacant stare as he said those ridiculous words to Elain. A preposterous notion, binding her sister to a stranger against her will, for all eternity. Would he, too, pursue her to the ends of the Earth? The gleaming blackness rose, feeding on her anger and panic. _We can save her. We can break it. We can break anything. Hybern couldn’t because you stole me. Don’t you want to break it?_ Nesta bit her cheek hard, trying to find something else to focus on, to distract it, but it was too hungry, too volatile. _Come on Nesta. Use me. Use Me. USE ME YOU COWARD._

It had been a month since Nesta evaporated the water in the tub. She had carefully suppressed it since, tamping it down and smothering it at even the slightest of rumblings. But she had gotten too comfortable, had relaxed too much. She wasn’t gaining control, she was delaying the inevitable.

“Nesta?” She heard her name in the same moment she felt the spark pass from Cassian’s fingertips as he brushed her cheek. She opened her eyes, finding him kneeling on the ground in front of her, his face too close and expression too gentle. He cupped her cheek, and she felt her damn power rush up to meet the touch. Nesta pulled back so fast and so hard she tipped the damn couch over. 

“Nesta?” he repeated. 

“Don’t,” was all she said, immediately dropping the book she’d been holding and covering her mouth. Her power swelled again, banging against her skin to be let out. She tried to swallow it down again, but it wanted out. She was going to throw up. She was going to throw up right here all over the floor. 

She chose to run away instead. Up the stairs, finding the first door that led to a balcony and slamming it behind her before collapsing on the cool stone of its floor. She released her mouth and vomited all over the floor, retching long after stomach was empty. Through the nausea, she slowly, carefully, reconstructed the iron walls that held everything in. When she was sure she wasn’t going to erupt anymore, Nesta sat back and took in a deep breath. 

The roof-top garden of the House of Wind was not large, as it was mostly for sitting and viewing, but it still was large enough to host a party of several people if needed. Nesta didn’t know it, but it was usually a very beautiful sight, covered with dozens of hanging and potted plants. But as Nesta caught her breath again, she couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Rhysand keeping a balcony of wilted and dead flowers as a petty slight against Tamlin. 

* * *

The Archeron family almost always had dinner together. If there wasn’t an event to attend, everyone gathered around the table to eat dinner and discuss their day. It was both tradition and training, letting the girls learn table manners while spending time with their otherwise busy parents. 

“So what did you work on today?” Lady Archeron asked, smiling at her beautiful baby girls. 

  
“I learned how to write my name! Did you know there’s an I in it?” Elain gushed happily while she shoved pasta in her mouth. 

“I knew!” Nesta piped up, waving her fork in the air. 

“Manners, Nesta,” her mother chided. 

“Sorry Mama,” Nesta looked back to her plate and started twirling more spaghetti on it. 

“What did _you_ learn today, sweetie?” her father asked. 

“My timeses tables,” she smiled at him. 

He raised an eyebrow, studying his daughter. “You learned your times tables?” 

Nesta nodded enthusiastically. Elain nodded along, as well. “Madame Cartright had Nesta read a lot of numbers.”   
  


“She did?” Her mother asked. “Then Nesta, what’s 3 times 4?”

Nesta dropped her fork and started counting on her fingers. “Seven.” she said as confidently as she could, picking her full fork up. 

“Nesta, honey. That’s 3 plus 4, not 3 times 4,” she said with a smile. 

Nesta furrowed her brow. “But 2 times 2 is the same as 2 plus 2?”  


“And how much is that?” her father asked, knowing the reaction he would get from his eldest daughter. 

“FOUR!” She said, beating her chest with her fist to indicate it was her favorite number this year. Last year it was 3, next year it would be 5. Unfortunately, she chose to hit her chest with the fist holding her fork. The pasta flew off it, through the air, landing with a splat all over her youngest sister’s face. Luckily, Feyre didn’t seem to mind it, giggling happily from her high chair. 

  
“Nesta!” her mother exclaimed.

“What?” 

“Apologize to your sister,” her father commanded, gently. 

“Why?” 

“For getting sauce all over your sister,” she explained. 

“She’s already covered in it!” 2 year olds are not the cleanest of eaters on the best days, and spaghetti was probably one of the messiest foods you could give a child. Feyre’s mouth, hands, neck, and bib were already covered in red from when she had given up on her fork and just started eating with her hands and face. 

“Nesta,” her mother said in _that_ tone. “What are you?”

“Your little lady,” Nesta mumbled. 

“That’s right. And ladies apologize when they misbehave. So what do you say?”   
  


Nesta sighed, puffed out her cheeks, and turned to her sister. “I’m very sorry, Feyre.” 

Feyre looked back at her big sister, seemingly trying to figure out what was happening. When suddenly, she smiled back at her and gargled some response through her full mouth, spilling even more red sauce out of her mouth and down her dress. 

Elain giggled first. Then Nesta. Then their father, and eventually even Lady Archeron herself was giggling quietly. 

  
  


“Why do you keep doing this?” Elain asked as Nesta held a piece of jam-covered bread to her chin. 

“Because you don’t eat if I don’t.” Nesta pushed the bread closer to Elain’s mouth. Elain tried to swat it away, but Nesta swerved out of the way and brought it back to rest in front of her sister’s face. 

“I don’t _want_ to-” Nesta took Elain’s open mouth as an opportunity to shove the bread in. Elain gagged a little as she took a bite. Nesta withdrew her hand with the rest of the bread. Elain coughed and spat out the bread. “WHAT THE FUCK, NESTA?”   
  


“Eat the damn bread Elain, or I’m shoving a lemon in there next time.” 

This was, admittedly, not the best way to deal with her severely depressed sister. But Nesta was so tired of hearing Elain say she didn’t want to do things. Especially when Nesta was trying so fucking hard to keep her alive. She stared down her sister, waiting. Elain stared back, eyes occasionally drifting to the bread Nesta still held in front of her mouth. 

“Fine,” Elain finally said, turning away and taking the bread from Nesta. 

“Thank you,” Nesta exhaled. She got up from the bed and went over to the tea set, preparing them both a cup. She kept an eye back at Elain, making sure the bread was getting eaten. When it was all gone, Nesta handed her sister some tea with a raised eyebrow. Elain took it with a scowl and even had a surly sip. 

“Don’t you get tired of it?” she asked. 

Nesta took a sip of her own tea. “I am tired of it, Elain. So by all means, decide you want to take care of yourself and I’ll take a damn break.”

“Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop pretending that you’re fine.” Elain’s words were cold. “I know you’re not. I hear you, too. I hear you throw up when no one’s around. I know you haven’t slept more than 20 minutes straight since Cassian put you to sleep,” Elain wiped a tear from her eye. “Stop pretending like it’s just me who’d rather be dead than here.” 

Nesta watched her cry, unsure of what to do. She suspected this might be the case - how could she not? - but it was still a shock to hear. She didn’t want to believe that Elain really didn’t want to live because of a boy. But if that’s what it was, then perhaps it was time to reverse strategy on the issue. “Graysen might take you back,” Nesta offered. “He was willing to forgo his father’s title, your dowry-” 

“He won’t see past this.” Elain scowled, pulling on her ear, gaze shifting to the middle distance. “He wouldn’t ...be the man I love if he did.” 

“Elain,” Nesta whispered her name. 

“I’m supposed to be married next week. We were going to fight a war together, protect our lands together. And I’m the enemy now.” She looked back up at Nesta. “We’re the enemy now.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “So please, please, stop pretending you can fix this.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I want to be alone.” 

Nesta nodded and left. She closed the door behind her and exhaled, throwing her latest in a series of fables against the opposite wall so hard it created a hole in the wall. Nothing. There was nothing she could do. She stomped down to the library, searching for the one book conveniently titled “How to Control your Dark Cauldron Powers and Return your Sister to her Human Form” But it didn’t exist. These damn books had nothing useful for her. There was no convenient spell for fixing what happened to Elain. No simple trick for safely learning how to wield godly powers. 

She needed help. She needed Feyre. Feyre would know what to do. 

Nesta was just a failure. 

Why was she even trying? 

Nesta walked over to the fiction shelves, picked up the dumbest sounding romance title she could find, plopped down on the couch, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Morrigan scene. So, uh, Nesta low-key knows about Morrigan, but doesn't /know/, ya feel? In my head cannon (and this fic) being gay/bi/pan is no big deal to the humans. M/F relationships are more common, especially with the gentry where they need to make heirs, but even then it's in no way stigmatized - In no small part because humans looked at every value the fae had and said "fuck that" (still got that misogyny though) 
> 
> 2\. Just a touch of civil and borderline domestic Nessian. Just a touch. 
> 
> 3\. Elain. Oh my sweet Elain. Oh my "knew what she was getting into with Graysen" Elain. Oh my "more than just sweet" Elain. Oh my "people are complex and Feyre really tends to pigeon-hole people in her descriptions of them" Elain. 
> 
> 4\. Nesta has been sleeping, but not *well*


	35. Lies and Fine China

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta talks to Cassian and then Feyre comes home

Nesta had a fine time since she decided to stop trying to fix anything. Trashy romance was just so much easier to read than complicated fables or history texts. She still had to take care of Elain, but having the escape of Lady Agatha’s raunchy misadventures was surprisingly nice. The last book she had read for no other reason than to read it was an equally stupid love story of two knight-errants, travelling the continent and protecting the innocent. It was very bad. 

She spent ten years wishing that wasn’t the last thing she read. 

But now, with nothing to do, there was nothing stopping her from spending an afternoon on the smallest balcony the House of Wind had to offer - conveniently located right above Elain’s room - with Lady Agatha and her varied lovers and a bottle of wine. The plot was dreadful and predictable to the extreme. Even the plot twist (Agatha’s estranged father was secretly one of the lords she was rebelling against) was so obvious she guessed it before she even finished the first chapter. But no one was reading this for the plot. The plot only served to connect a series of increasing descriptive sex scenes. 

Dimitri spread her legs, trailing gentle kisses up her inner thigh, nipping occasionally as he went. “It doesn’t matter where you come from,” he sucked a mark into her gentle flesh. “You are my rebel queen,” he praised before diving into her -

“Good book?” Cassian asked, plopping down next to her. She shut the book as quickly as possible and scooted away from him, attempting to hide the book in her skirts without knocking over her wine. His eyes flared as they met hers, giving her a delighted, if predatory, smile. 

“Where did you come from?” She asked, glancing back at the door she never heard open, trying very hard to beat the blush out of her cheeks with sheer force of will. 

He pointed up to the sky. “Been here a minute. Makes sense you didn’t hear me, you seemed _very_ interested in that book.” He leaned close to her again, and Nesta backed up as much as possible, back hitting the wall already. 

“Didn’t your mother tell you eavesdropping was rude?” 

“You weren’t talking, sweetheart,” he shot back, and then, with a lift of his eyebrows, “You were giggling.” 

“I was not!” 

“Then maybe it was moaning?” 

“It was _not!”_

“No judgement here,” he put his hands in the air. “Let me know if your hand could use some real life inspiration,” he said, winking. 

She whipped the book at his head full force. He caught it easily, turned it over, and read the title. Rebel Love, and grinned harder. Nesta wanted to melt into the roof and just slide off the mountain into the river. 

“Should I read this for pointers or...?” 

Nesta grinned, “I didn’t realize you needed an instruction manual.” 

He leaned in again, “I prefer hands-on lessons.” He lingered too close, face mere inches from hers. She could smell him, a blend of wind and wood and leather. His lips, despite being chapped, seemed so delicious. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to lean forward and…

Her hands squeezed his jaw before her mouth got any smart ideas again. Now this was a sight. The beast of a man, well over 6 feet, built for war and bloodshed, having his lips and cheeks squished by a singular girl. But now that she had him here, she had no idea what to do with him. So she just kept squishing his face, enjoying the absurdity of his expression. 

When his eyes changed from surprise to incredulity, she knew she blew her chance to do something here. His tongue darted out and licked her fingers. She released his face, whisking her hand back, as he also moved away, laughing a bit. 

“You had me there for a moment,” he said, smiling and rubbing his jaw. “What’s the matter Nesta, don’t know how to finish?” 

“Not all of us are battle-brutes,” she wiped her hand on the pewter sleeve and picked up her wine glass. Cassian sat back against the opposite wall, arms resting on his bent knees. 

“As much fun as it is to play with you Nesta, that is not why I am here.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a book that looked like it had been put through hell. The cover was rotting from the edges in. Black mold and decay centered on the spine, deteriorating it to the point she could see the binding threads and the yellowed pages. She was only barely able to make out one word of the title, “Cessair”. 

He waited for her to understand what the book was, and said with all seriousness, “Nesta we need to talk.” 

Nesta took an imperious sip, “Do we?” 

“You need training,” he said. 

She watched the liquid swirl around in her glass. “Is this your opinion?” 

“You took something from the Cauldron, Nesta. And it’s powerful. You need to learn to control it.”   
  


“I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

  
“So you had nothing to do with Rhys’s garden?” 

Nesta glared at him. He had been doing his own investigations, it seemed. 

“It’s nothing,” she said as hard as possible.  
  


“No. It’s not,” he responded with equal strength. “This time it was just a book and a garden. What if next time it’s a person? What if it’s Elain?”

“Do. not.” 

“Even Feyre had to practice to control her magic,” he cut her off. “Nesta, let me-”   
  


“Don’t compare me to her. We are not the same if you haven’t noticed.”   
  


“Oh I’ve noticed,” there was a hint of disgust in his words. Nesta saw red.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means your sister tried. She fought to learn, to take control of her life, to help herself. What do you _do_ Nesta? What have you ever done? You are _offered_ what she fought for, you just stick up your nose at it!” He wasn’t quite shouting, but it was close enough. 

Nesta snarled at him. “What do you want from me, Cassian? Do you want me to be _happy_ about this?” He started to say no but she plowed through him. “Plaster a smile on my face and pretend that my body is still mine? That my people aren’t _dead_ ? Do you want me to fall to my knees at your feet and beg you for help? Pretend that Feyre and your court didn't walk death into my home? Pretend that _I_ didn’t invite it in?” 

Nesta took a breath to calm herself from the yelling. She downed the last of her wine and said with deadly calm. “I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your help. Just shut your mouth and stay the hell away from me.” 

“Nesta” Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by shadows swirling on the roof near them. They kept eyes on each other as Azriel appeared from the portal they formed. 

“It’s Feyre.” Nesta and Cassian both shot their attention to Azriel. “She needs help.” _No._

Cassian looked back at Nesta. Before he could say the apology that was in his eyes, Nesta was on her feet pulling him up. 

“Go!” He continued to stand there like an idiot, looking down at where she was holding his arm. “What are you waiting for? Go!” She shoved him toward Cassian.

Azriel nodded to her, placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, and let the shadows encompass them both. 

Nesta watched where they had just been standing for a minute, then took a deep breath. She picked up her book and half-empty bottle of wine, held them to herself, and went inside to Elain. 

Nesta couldn’t sit still all afternoon. She tried to read more, but couldn’t focus on the words. She tried to distract herself by changing Elain and getting her food, but she didn’t have the bite to force it today. Elain wasn’t there anyway. She had spent most of the day in her other space, barely aware of her surroundings. There was little Nesta could do when Elain was like this. She ended up just pacing around the room instead, opening every window with the silent hope that one of them would give her the view of Feyre returning safe and sound.

“Night will not yield to fire.” 

Elain’s words pulled Nesta’s attention. She looked back to her sister. Elain was still not there, still vacant, vision still clouded. But she still turned her chin up to Nesta. “Night will not yield to fire,” she repeated. 

“Elain?” Nesta asked. This was a first. Elain sometimes spoke, or laughed, or whimpered, or even screamed when she was in that faraway place. But she never spoke so clearly when she was like this, addressing Nesta so directly. But she said nothing else, retreating further into herself, gasping at some unseen sight. 

Nesta stood vigil at Elain’s bed through the night, waiting and watching for either one of her sisters to come back to her. 

* * *

The night yielded to day with no word. Nesta feared the worst, but she couldn’t let Elain know. Telling her Feyre was in danger, that the warriors had to go fetch her, would just cause her unnecessary harm. Nesta didn’t know if she was at all aware of what happened when she was in her fugue state, but it didn’t matter anyway. She was still gone. 

And Feyre and Cassian and Azriel weren’t back. 

Nesta was going to crawl out of her skin. Instead, she moved Elain to the chair, wrapped her in a blanket, and started washing her sheets in the tub. When the sheets were properly scrubbed and rinsed, Nesta used a hanger to drain the tub and gingerly laid the cloth over the top of the tub to dry. 

It was still early. There was still no word. 

Nesta went back out to the bedroom. Elain hadn’t moved since Nesta put her in the chair. She was facing the open window, but you could hardly call what she was doing looking. Nesta crossed the room and kissed Elain on the cheek. “I’m going to go get breakfast. I will bring you up something.” 

Nesta picked up her book and went down to the kitchen. The full spread, prepared by the maids she barely saw, was laid out on the counter. She didn’t quite feel like eating, far too nervous for word, but she fixed herself a plate of fruit anyway. If she acted like it was fine, then maybe, just maybe, it _would_ be fine. Nesta tried again to half-heartedly read while nibbling on her plate. 

Mid-strawberry, she heard the best sound in the world. 

Flapping.

Blessed flapped rung through the air.

Nesta ran out to the sitting room still gripping her book and teacup. Through the glass walls, she spied a party flying to the House of the Wind. She let out the breath she’d been holding for the past day and covered her mouth with her right hand, dropping her cup and not minding one bit as it shattered on the floor. Her left hand still held the book tight to her body. “She’s home.” The words came out as little more than a whisper. She stood straighter, watching as the party got closer and closer. 

There were two groups flying up. That didn’t surprise Nesta. She figured Rhysand would accompany Feyre, and Cassian was almost a given at this point. But she noted a fourth member of the party, uncomfortably balanced in Cassian’s reluctant grip. 

_Why the hell is Lucien here?_

For reasons Nesta could explain, she hid behind the couch when they landed. 

No one seemed to notice her there. Rhysand and Cassian went right to the dining room, around the corner and safely out of sight thanks to the solid interior walls. From the clinking of glasses and smell of fire whiskey, they were pouring drinks. Feyre stayed out on the main balcony with the red-headed Spring Court Fae. 

Nesta popped her head out over the couch. They were facing away from her, out to the city. 

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Lucien said. 

Feyre was holding her arms to herself, looking up at him. “The city is still recovering from the Hybern attack.” Nesta felt her blood run cold. Their conversation was awkward, sure, but Feyre’s body language, her expression, it was the same as it was when she came home after being changed. She wanted acceptance. From this man who had helped sell out her sisters, Feyre wanted understanding. 

Nesta stole away from the sitting room, marching down the stairs to the foyer, then to ~~her~~ Rhysand’s library. She paced back and forth through the section. Winding her way through the shelves. She felt her power stir, responding to her anger, but finding instead a meal of resentment and bitterness. She had waited, foolishly, for Feyre. Little Feyre, who could do everything she couldn’t do. Who could hunt and fight and paint and keep them alive. 

But Feyre wasn’t Little Feyre anymore. She was High Lady of the Night Court. She wasn’t human. She called on the Cauldron, she had a _mate_ , for Wall’s sake. She was Fae, entirely Fae, _happy_ to be Fae. How could she possibly understand why Nesta and Elain _wouldn’t_ be? A small, dark thought Nesta kept sealed away for two months crept into her thoughts. 

_She was willing to save Rhysand, not you._

It was the forbidden thought. The worst of Nesta thinking the worst of Feyre. But she was so mad. She could still hear the subtle murmuring of the conversation, though it was indistinguishable two flights up. How long had she been standing there, chatting away? How long was Feyre going to putter about before bothering to actually see her family? 

The chatter ended, and footsteps began to make their way toward the library. They were coming to find her first, because of course they were. Cassian and Rhysand knew better than to try and see Elain. No doubt they knew even Feyre would require her sister’s permission. Nesta sat down with her book. 

She knew they wouldn’t suspect her eavesdropping if she pretended to be reading. Cassian had seen her doing it enough these past weeks that he’d no doubt believe Nesta, curled up on the couch with a book, had been there for hours, oblivious to the world around her, unaware or at least uncaring that Feyre was home. 

She waited not until the door opened, but until their footsteps sounded in the room before slamming her book closed and standing with conviction. She let the book fall onto the table with a loud thud before turning to face her sister, a perfect echo of her mother, cold, cruel, and in control. 

“You’re back.” 

* * *

Nesta watched as Feyre took her in. Jumping from her dress to her hair, and then to her face. She knew what she was seeing, the same thing Nesta had seen when examined herself so closely in the mirror. She was Nesta, but she wasn’t. Vanity had never been Nesta’s sin of choice, but she had always liked how she looked. The breasts were a pain sometimes, but she always liked the harsh beauty of her face. It was _her_ face, after all. But now she was just a brutal, beautiful mockery of what she had been. Before she could feel the pain of Feyre’s attention, she caught Cassian’s eye. A busybody through and through, he had not failed to notice that she was wearing the same pewter gown he last saw her in. She saw the gentle sorrow enter his face, as he realized what it meant. She wanted to strangle that look out of him. “What do you want?” 

“At least immortality hasn’t changed some things about you.” Feyre’s little smile was the worst thing Nesta had ever fucking seen. Nothing was the same. Not a damn thing. How dare she smile. How dare she think any of this was fine? 

“Is there a purpose to this visit, or may I return to my book?”   
  


Cassian broke formation first, sauntering over to Nesta with one of his obnoxious grins. He walked right by her, brushing her body with one of his wings. To Feyre and Rhysand, it was taunting her, maybe even flirting. But that wing gave them cover while he pressed a shard of the broken teacup into her palm. He kept moving, not pausing, as if he really meant to reach for the book on the table. 

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader.” 

Nesta gripped the shard behind her back. _Damn him_ . He knew, of course he knew. Nesta could do nothing but glare at him as he leafed through the pages, waiting to see what he was doing here, what his play was. Cassian leafed through the book, passive-aggressively drawling to Feyre, “You haven’t missed much while you were off _destroying our enemies_ , Feyre. It’s mostly been this.”

“You -” Nesta wanted to call him a bastard, but then she registered what he said. She turned back to Feyre. “Accomplished it?” 

“We’ll see how it plays out. I made sure Ianthe suffered.” Only one enemy then. Nesta was glad to hear the bitch suffered, but that meant that all the rest were still out there. Hybern, the queens, Azalea. “Not enough, though.” Feyre added bitterly. 

_Good. At least she knows_ **_Ianthe_ ** _is the enemy. what Ianthe deserves._

Nesta heard a small gasp from beside her, turning to see Cassian’s eyes actually catching on a page. She stole the book back before he had a chance to get to the real juicy stuff, dropping the shard in between the pages as she slammed it closed again. “And again,” Nesta turned back to Feyre. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you. See how you were doing,” Feyre said meekly. 

“See if I’ve accepted my lot and found myself grateful for becoming one of them?” _Like you. Like he wants me to be._

“You’re my sister. I watched them hurt you. I wanted to see if you were all right.”

Feyre said the words so genuinely it made Nesta sick. She was not an object to be pitied. She would not stand for it. 

Bitter sarcasm leached from Nesta as she threw her hands in the air and said, “What do I care?” The first sentence landed like a slap. Nesta kept going. “I get to be young and beautiful forever,” she let her voice go up in pitch, wearing her biggest, fakest smile. “And I never have to go back to those sycophantic fools over the wall. I get to do as I wish, since apparently no one here has any regard for rules or manners or our traditions.” She threw that barb at Cassian, and then turned back to Feyre. “Perhaps I should thank _you_ for dragging me into this.” She watched as Feyre’s face changed from pity to defeated disdain. _Good_. “But it’s not me you should be checking on. I had as little at stake on the other side of the wall as I do here,” she felt Cassian tighten as she spoke. He knew it was a lie, and he also knew where this was going. “She will not leave her room. She will not stop crying. She will not eat, or sleep, or drink.” 

Rhysand cut in, shocked at the news. “I have asked you over and over if you needed—” 

“Why should I allow any of you to get near her?” Nesta shot the words to the men -males- in the room. Then she turned her attention to Feyre, “It is no one’s business but our own.” 

“Elain’s mate is here,” Feyre said those words as if they would mean anything. 

“He is no such thing to her,” Nesta felt herself vibrate with rage, charging forward to her sister. _How fucking clueless, how fucking self-centered._ “If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—” 

“You’ll what?” Cassian called from behind her, trying to distract her from the shield of Rhysand’s power that halted her steps. _He told Rhysand._ She turned on him, ready to lay into him for telling _Rhysand_ about her outburst, but he began to defend himself first. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” 

“Shut your mouth,” Nesta cut him off. How dare he? “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—” 

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” Cassian bent down to meet her eye level, she could read the unspoken challenge in his words. _If you trained though, it wouldn’t be a problem, would it?_

Feyre cut in, trying to mediate. “If Elain is not up for it, then she won’t see him. I won’t force the meeting on her. But he does wish to see her, Nesta. I’ll ask on his behalf, but the decision will be hers.” _She already wants to die, Feyre. She hates herself, Feyre. She doesn’t want it. This is a bad idea._

But that was far too much to say in front of others. So Nesta changed her tactics. “The male who sold us out to Hybern,” Nesta said. If Feyre couldn’t understand why Elain wouldn’t want to see _him_ , she could at least understand that _he_ didn’t deserve to see _her_. 

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Well, it will certainly be more complicated when Father returns and finds us gone. What do you plan to tell him about all this?” Nesta wasn’t even sure why she brought up their father, she had barely thought about him since her birthday. Maybe it was just to get Feyre to realize that there was still someone on the other side of the Wall, tying them to humans. Maybe it was because she knew that Feyre and Elain never gave up on him.

“Seeing as he hasn’t sent word from the continent in months, I’ll worry about that later.” 

Nesta sighed, shaking her head. Two years ago, Nesta would have cheered to hear that Feyre finally stopped caring about their miserable excuse for a father. And maybe she did still care about him, but just wanted to win the fight with her sister. Fine, let her go see the state Elain is in and see if meeting strangers is what she needs. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” _You won’t listen to me anyway._

“I’m sorry, Nesta.” 

  
_No. You’re not._ Nesta sat back in her chair and opened her book, keeping her mouth shut before she said anything she couldn’t take back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there was ever a chapter I want to post Cassian POV for. It's this one.


	36. Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta has dinner and starts training

Nesta emerged from the library to see Lucien standing in the foyer, staring down the stairs. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded. She heard the lot of them flap away just minutes ago. 

“I apparently live here now,” he gestured around himself with a grimace.    
  


“No,” she glowered. “You don’t.”  _ You can die here, though.  _   
  


“I’ve already been told to avoid your floor, and the library, don’t worry,” he spoke while looking away from her, his creepy little metallic eye searching frantically around the foyer. “Do you know where the servants are?”

“The servants?”

“Rhysand told me to ask the servants before talking to you or getting a book from the library.” He suddenly realized what he was currently doing. “Oh no.” 

Nesta smiled. For the first time, she actually liked Rhysand a little bit. She took a step in Lucien’s direction, beyond delighted when he took a step back. She took another step, and another. She continued walking, feeling her power surge ever so slightly with every step, relishing seeing the ass who so readily tried to stake a claim on her sister cower against the wall. Part of Nesta wanted to walk directly into him, rip out his esophagus with her bare hands, and leave him a pile of rotting meat. But as much as she hated it, he  _ was _ Elain’s mate. If the bond was anything like the romance novels or legends, killing him would only hurt Elain - even if she didn’t even want him. It was cruel. A cruel, disgusting Fae trap, to tie two people together like this, to make it so they couldn’t say no or resist fate.    
  
Nesta strode past Lucien, not even bothering to look at him. She would not kill him, but she certainly wouldn’t make life easy for him. Keeping her gaze forward, she called from the stairs.“Best of luck finding the servants, they are so rarely seen.” 

As soon as she was out of Lucien’s sight, Nesta went straight for Elain. Seeing Feyre and Rhysand might have spooked her - into talking or into her oblivion Nesta could only guess. She spotted a note left on the coffee table as she walked through their parlor. She pocketed it and pushed right into Elain’s room. 

Elain was still in her chair. She was still staring out the window. Her eyes flicked to Nesta as the door opened, though, just for a moment. She  _ was  _ lucid, then. Lucid and purposefully ignoring her sister.  _ Feyre’s visit had gone well, then. _ Nesta thought ruefully. Nesta closed the door behind her and sat on the end of Elain’s bed, watching her. 

“It seems that bastard, Lucien, will be staying in the House for now.” No response from Elain. “He is not allowed up here, though.” Again, no verbal response. But Nesta watched as again her eyes flicked to her sister and back to the window. She probably already knew Lucien was here. She probably watched them all fly back to the city without him. Nesta sighed quietly and pulled the note out of her pocket. She read it quickly and got an idea. 

“Feyre and the Court will be coming for dinner,” she said. She waited a moment for a response, then looked up. Elain had tightened her gaze, but was still facing away from her. “What do you want to wear?” At that, Elain, finally turned to her sister, annoyed and tired, but she spoke. 

“I’m not going.” 

Nesta crossed her arms. “Your impersonation of me is getting better, but you should really add more disdain to your voice.” 

Elain looked away, but she cracked a ghost of a smile, despite herself. After a moment of considering it, Nesta walked over to Elain and picked her up. 

“What are you-?” 

“You don’t have to go to dinner,” Nesta grunted. “But you are going to help  _ me  _ pick out a dress.”    
  


Elain, despite everything, snaked her arms around her big sister and held on tight, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Nesta smiled, giving her a little squeeze back.  _ If that red-headed bastard comes near you, I’ll make new bonds out of his entrails.  _

She set Elain up on the bed, propped up on the pillows. It was the first time Nesta had taken Elain out of her room. She didn’t want her exposed out and about in the House when one of those damn fae stopped by unannounced. As for what Elain wanted… well she only ever asked to go home. But right now, Lucien was a fox in their hen house. And he wanted to see Elain. Regardless what Rhysand might have threatened, if Nesta wanted to make sure he kept his distance, she was going to need to have eyes on either him or Elain every moment.

Despite the new location, Elain seemed more or less ok. She leaned back against the pillows and just looked around the room, taking in her sister’s quarters. The room had been exquisitely designed. The walls were painted a dark green, the furniture all constructed of shining steel, accented slightly with wrought iron. Even the bed spread was made of a plush steel-colored fabric. If Elain could see the floor, she’d be sure it had matching carpeting. But all the careful interior design in the world could not make it look grand now.

Hurricane Nesta had all but destroyed it. Every surface was covered with dresses, books, and dishes. She had stained the carpet quite hideously, leaving large brown stains from coffee she was too tired to hold onto or wine she was equally too tired to finish. Nesta walked over to the wardrobe and pulled it open, sifting through the seemingly endless supply of dresses. She hadn’t worn one twice, and based on the state of the floor, and the chair, and the vanity, it could easily be because none of the dresses had ever been washed. 

Nesta removed one dress from the wardrobe. It was beautifully light, made from stacked layers of chiffon, embroidered with delicate bead and point-lace flowers. She threw it casually behind her, Elain watched as it landed precariously on the edge of the bed and slid off the side, joining a pile of similarly discarded clothes. She then removed a teal gown, made of a thicker silk, cut similarly to human-style gowns. Nesta inspected this one carefully. It was a simpler dress than the last, with it’s only accents being the diamond buttons down the front and sleeves. This one was a contender. Nesta hung it up on the door of the wardrobe and went in for another. 

Her hand caught on soft velvet. Nesta removed possibly the simplest of the formal dresses Rhysand had provided. There was no accent work, no buttons, no applique or lace. This was a simple velvet dress, so blue it was a breath away from black, brightened only by how the fabric threw the light.

_ Clare I told you we needed gowns fit for queens.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ And that’s what I gave you.  _

_ There isn’t even trim on these!  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I should hope not, it would distract from the beauty of the silk, my work, and how you two will look in it.  _

Clare’s philosophy of elegance always came down to simple mastery. Fine material and finer construction needed no adornment. Lace, applique, and beading all had its place, but real finery was in the exquisite drape of a perfectly fit dress. It was a kind of regal elegance that didn’t ask for respect, but rather commanded it. She could use some silent authority today. 

Elain was still eyeing the fallen chiffon, Nesta tilted her head. “You can have it you know.” 

Ealin looked back up at her sister, noting the plush midnight-blue velvet. “You’ll need combs.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and hung the dress on the wardrobe door. Pacing over to the vanity, she picked up the jewelry box and headed to the bed. The jewelry box had come with the room, and Nesta had spent all of 10 seconds looking through it before deciding she didn’t want to wear any of the crap that was in there. It was all needlessly extravagant, all diamond necklaces and ruby earrings. All beautiful, all set in gold or silver, and all wrong. 

She overturned the box onto the bed between her and Elain, watching the sparkling rainfall as it took longer than either could have expected to empty the box. They watched as more jewels fell, more gold, more fucking silver. Each item clinking as it joined the pile on the bed. It wasn’t until the pile was three times the size of the box, that it finally seemed to empty. 

It was a stupid hang up to have. Iron did nothing at all to the fae. It offered no protection. If anything it was just another symbol of fae trickery and human gullibility. Of her ancestors’ willful ignorance, their shared fantasy of equality, and their desperate hope of freedom. These lavish trinkets just couldn’t compare - all they were was pretty. 

Nesta gestured down to the pile. “You said I need combs.” She pushed off the bed and went to the bathroom, stripping and tossing her dress on the way. She filled one of her buckets with water so hot it was just shy of boiling, and began scrubbing the night away. She wasn’t going to dinner smelling like she had stayed up all night, even if she had. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and hanging in clumps down her back, Elain was leaning back against the headboard. The pile of jewelry was gone, the box sitting neatly in its place. In her hand were two simple, large silver combs. They were probably the only pieces in the entire box that were more functional than decorative. 

“Yeah sure, I’ll wear those.”    
  


* * *

Nesta left Elain in her room when she went down for dinner. She debated taking her sister back to her own room, it wasn’t like she was any safer in one or the other, but with that damn Spring male here, Nesta was willing to try anything to keep him away. Maybe a room that was so messy it was virtually booby trapped would help? Who’s to say? Elain seemed as content as she was before, just sitting on the bed, fiddling with the covers. Hell, there were more things to interact with in Nesta’s room, at least, with the pile of books on the floor next to bed.    
  


Nesta heard the party forming on the balcony before she saw it. They weren’t particularly loud, but they were chattering away amongst themselves. Most of the voices she recognized immediately as members of Rhysand’s court, Feyre, or the Spring fool, but one she couldn’t place. She knew she had heard it before, but wasn’t entirely sure where. Nesta took a breath in before stepping into view. 

For a moment, the chatter stopped. 

Silently, Nesta thanked Rhysand’s awful taste in jewelry. If she had worn any of it, she’d be as over-dressed as the red-headed prick. As such, she was just wearing a simple velvet gown. Sure, she looked lethal, but it was  _ just  _ a gown, so the lethality must all be hers then. The gown itself was worth wearing for the stupid look on Cassian’s face alone.  _ If  _ she was speaking to him, she might have told him to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

Morrigan, it seemed, was the first person who adjusted to this appearance. Nesta barely made it onto the balcony before the breeze of red chiffon came upon her. 

“Where did that dress come from?” she asked, inspecting the gown with a casual familiarity that set Nesta’s teeth on edge - for no other reason than it seemed… genuine? She started picking at the dress, pouting “ _ I  _ want one.” The big brown eyes met Nesta’s before flicking to Feyre and back. She might as well have been shouting ‘Come talk to your sister,’ for the obviousness of the gesture. 

“I assume my mate dug it up somewhere.” Nesta didn’t know what pissed her off more, the dismissiveness of the sentence or the casual way Feyre used the term ‘mate.’ 

“He gets all the credit for clothes,” Morrigan sighed, “and he never tells me where he finds them. He still won’t tell me where he found Feyre’s dress for Starfall,” she smiled at Nesta and then back to Rhysand, “Bastard.” 

Nesta didn’t know what to say. It was one thing to be saved by Morrigan, to talk to her about the bats, or about history. But for some reason, talking to your childhood hero about dresses and fashion, as they try to befriend you, was the actual most nerve-wracking social situation she had ever been in. Nesta couldn’t summon her usual charming snark, she was trying too hard to figure out exactly how she felt about this. 

“It’s a good thing we’re not the same size - or else I might be tempted to steal that dress,” Morrigan’s tone was somewhere between a joke and threat.

  
“Likely right off her,” Cassian muttered. Whether or not he intended it to be heard, it still registered to everyone in the room. Morrigan knew they both heard it, too, judging from the inviting smile she was giving Nesta.  _ Are you… flirting with me? _ The thought of  _ Morrigan  _ flirting with Nesta completely short-circuited her for a moment.  _ No no, she’s just Cassian’s friend. Cassian seemed to enjoy verbal sparring. Bird of a feather and all that.  _ She’s teasing. That’s all. Best to just tease back. 

Nesta made a show of looking Morrigan up and down. As usual, her dress was as beautiful as it was revealing. “Fortunately for you, I don’t return the sentiment,” Nesta quipped before heading to the table and taking a seat. Not looking back at Morrigan’s face for fear she might actually blush from nerves. 

“I think we’re going to need a lot more wine,” Morrigan winced. Nesta felt her stomach drop. Apparently her incredibly dry delivery did not land with Morrigan, or she had misread the entire situation.  _ Dammit.  _

“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian said as he ran away as fast as possible. Whatever he thought of the exchange, he clearly did not want to get involved.  _ Never thought I’d miss Tabitha fucking Rutland.  _ At least Tabitha would have jumped in with equally cutting words.

Feyre sat next to her sister, who was gently offering a cover. “They mean well.”

  
“Fucking Hell, it was a damn joke,” is what Nesta wanted to say. But backtracking would put her on the defensive, and that wasn’t about to happen with this crowd. “No they don’t, they really think they need to be drunk to deal with me,” was the next thing Nesta could have said. But again, defensive, self-victimization was not Nesta’s appearance of choice. So instead, she just dismissed the concern altogether. “I don’t care.”

Cassian did indeed return with extra wine. Nesta wanted to deck him. He caught her glare and must have felt at least some shame, because he did cringe away. 

“You’re a real piece of work.” The voice directed at her caught her attention. Nesta turned to see the owner of the voice she couldn’t identify, a small woman sitting across from Feyre, her eyes glowing and flowing with liquid silver. Ah yes, she had met her before. Amren looked at her like that last time, too. She didn’t register the light in her eyes then, though. She was too concerned with keeping everyone away from Elain to really notice any details. It was interesting. Different. She had read books and books about fae and their magic, some of them even speaking about an Amren - this Amren, Nesta realized. A monster by Fae standards, mentioned along with the likes of the Weaver of the Wood. But none of them had any real facts about her - other than the blood drinking, apparently. And none of them mentioned this little detail. She had to know.    
  
“Why do your eyes glow?” 

Amren cocked her head and smiled in surprise. “You know, none of these busybodies have ever asked me that.” 

If she expected that to deter Nesta from getting an answer, she didn’t know who she was talking to. Nesta raised an eyebrow, waiting for Amren to either answer the question or tell her to fuck off properly. 

Finally realizing that Nesta wasn’t going to take the bait and change the subject, Amren sighed and answered. “They glow because it was on part of me the containment spell could not quite get right. The one glimpse into what lurks beneath.” 

  
“And what is beneath?” Nesta heard the others hold their breath. 

“They never dared to ask me that, either.” 

“Why.” 

“Because it is not polite to ask,” she said off-hand at first. But watching Nesta watch her, she decided to say the truth. “... and they are afraid.” She waited, searching for any of the fear or apprehension emanating from their company, but found, in Nesta, only passive curiosity. Amren smiled. “We are the same you and I. Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones…” she paused again, this time looking deeper. “I see the kernel, girl. You did not fit the mold they shoved you into.” Nesta felt a shiver ghost along her skin. Amren was not talking about the Cauldron, not in the slightest. “The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and you did not, could not, fit. And then the path changed.” A familiar smile and a nod this time. “I know what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was.” 

The truth of the words snaked around Nesta’s neck like a noose. Everyone and everything else faded. This woman was worse than Cassian. She didn’t just see the tempest beneath Nesta’s skin, she understood it. She understood how hard Nesta had worked to walk the path her mother shoved her on. How much effort it took to learn to be any good at it, to find her niche within. Her sister’s never understood it. Elain was a natural lady, the perfect damsel. Feyre had never had to learn to be one. But this strange monster understood. She was the same. Nesta could have started crying. 

But she didn’t and she wouldn’t. Nesta Archeron had long outgrown crying over not being allowed to run and climb. And she was not about to let anyone else know that she ever did. Her mother might have broken her to do it, but she  _ did  _ make Nesta a Lady. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Amren smiled wide, pleased that Nesta passed her little test. “When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds.” The twinkle in her eye betrayed the genuine excitement for the show of Nesta’s strength. The power in her blood sung in response, overjoyed by the praise. Nesta would be a liar if she wasn’t a little happy to meet someone excited by - and not afraid of- the power she stole. 

“Amren, it seems, has been taking drama lessons at the theater down the street from her house.” Rhysand actually surprised Nesta, she had momentarily forgotten that she and Amren were not alone. 

“I mean it, Rhysand-”    
  


“I’m sure you do,” Nesta wanted to slap those smug words out of his mouth. “But I’d prefer to eat something before you make us lose our appetites.”  _ Afraid, Rhysand?  _

Lucien certainly was. He bemoaned having to sit across from her, and when he finally relented to his seat, Nesta barely had to look at him to set his hair on edge. This could be fun. To hell with the rest of them, she could enjoy herself making this man piss his pants all night.

But Feyre liked him. And she tried to assuage his discomfort. Nesta watched and listened as her sister tried to include him in her new family’s banter. Did they know how spectacularly it failed? How exclusionary it was? Only Feyre talked to Lucien, and the rest to each other and Feyre alone. Their jokes were only for them, only entertaining to each other. It didn’t escape Nesta’s notice that they did poke and prod and make jokes at one another’s expense, and all smiled over the insults. But one joke about Mor’s dress and they needed alcohol to deal with her? 

Feyre distracted Nesta from her thoughts by piling food on her plate. Nesta watched her sister serve her, churning over the action. _Maybe it_ ** _was_** _unintentional._ Maybe they were so used to each other they didn’t realize how readily they constructed a wall around themselves. Maybe they were so used to jokes being delivered with a wink and a smirk, they had no way of recognizing a dry delivery. 

An olive branch, then. 

“I understand,” Nesta blurted out, a bit more awkwardly than intended. “What you meant about the food,” she clarified. It took Feyre a moment to register what Nesta meant, but when she did, her smile was… just as annoying as a little sister’s ought to be. 

“Is that a compliment?” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and dug into her plate. Admitting she was wrong wasn’t her forte, and she wasn’t about to try and make it so now. Just as well. Feyre and the Night Court went back to bickering with one another, this time over training schedules. Nesta mostly watched Lucien react with horror at every scandalous gesture and swear. By the Wall, Tabitha and she could have made him cry in seconds.  _ Twice in one meal?  _ Nesta watched her plate, wondering why she was thinking about the Rutlands, of all people, wondering if they were alright. 

“Are you planning on hiding her powers?” 

Nesta snapped back to the conversation at Lucien’s words, unsure about whom he was referring. From context, it was clear he meant Feyre. The more he spoke, the more confused it became. Why would Feyre have his father’s power? Who is Eris? Didn’t she read that Beron was the lord of the Autumn Court? 

She had just pieced together that Lucien was a son of the Autumn Court High Lord, serving in the Spring Court until recently, when Cassian said yet another thing that made no sense. 

  
“Please don’t say we need to go to the Court of Nightmares.”  _ Are they just making things up now?  _ _   
_   
“Not in the mood to terrorize our friends there?” Rhysand asked his general. But Morrigan cut in before he could respond. 

“You mean to ask my father to fight in this war.” 

_ Alright, that’s it,  _ “What is the Court of Nightmares?” Nesta asked. It was Lucien who answered. 

“The place where the rest of the world believes the majority of the Night Court to be,” he nodded to Rhsyand, “The seat of his power. Or it was.”  _ Oh. It’s the Hewn City. _ She had read about the Hewn City in the basic history of Prythian. It wasn’t referred to as the Court of Nightmares though, that must be a colloquialism. Cheery. 

“Oh, it still is. To everyone outside of Velaris.” Rhysand turned to Morrigan. “And yes, Keir’s Darkbringer legion is considerable enough that a meeting is warranted.” 

“Why not just order them? Don’t they answer to you?” According to the books, the Hewn City is still a part of the Night Court, still under the High Lord. 

Cassian decided to explain. “Unfortunately, there are protocols in place between our two subcourts regarding this sort of thing. They mostly govern themselves - with Mor’s father as their steward.”  _ So they are a principality?  _

Rhysand jumped in to explain further. “The steward of the Hewn City is legally entitled to refuse aid to my armies. It was part of the agreement my ancestor made with the Court of Nightmares all those thousands of years ago. They would remain within that mountain, would not challenge or disturb us beyond its borders, and would retain the right to decide to not assist in war.”  _ So it’s a semi-sovereign principality within your territory?  _

__ Nesta was still scratching her head at that little nugget. The Night Court essentially had states then, disjointed ones from the way they were talking. She listened as they talked back and forth over meeting with the steward. There was clearly no love-lost between the two states. Was the peace treaty just to keep the court appearing as one large country? Fae states are tied to magic… can they even secede, officially? Was this the best they could do? 

Morrigan really didn’t want to go home, from the sound of things. More interesting drama, then, especially the way everyone watched and waited for her to react. And the way that Feyre very abruptly changed the subject back to training. 

“Let’s train at eight tomorrow.” The tension did relax slightly, though more than a couple of the dinner guests kept an eye on Morrigan. Feyre turned to Nesta. “Care to join?” 

Nesta considered it. It really was normal then, for women- for ladies - to fight and train. But… Feyre had been in the woods since she was a kid, she had been fighting for years. Nesta hadn’t thrown a punch since she gave Jeremy a black eye at 7. She was in no mood to show Feyre, or Cassian, how bad she probably was at it. 

“No.” 

Feyre accepted the answer and once again changed the subject, turning back to her Court. “I want to learn how to fly.” 

“Well, that explains the wings,” Lucien accepted. 

“What wings?” Nesta said it outloud without realizing it.    
  


“I can… shapeshift,” Feyre admitted. Nesta wanted to rub her temples. Of course. Feyre can shapeshift. She wanted to learn to fly. Why not? It’s Feyre. Nesta should have learned to stop questioning what she can do by now. 

Azriel decided that he was going to teach Feyre, making a pointed comment about the other bats learning too early to remember. He had learned at an older age then. Nesta didn’t currently have any money, but she’d bet her old fortune that it had something to do with the horrifying state of his hands. Feyre, unusually scatter-brained, changed topics... again. 

“The King of Hybern is trying to bring down the Wall by using the Cauldron to expand holes already in it. I might be able to patch up those holes, but you… being made of the Cauldron itself… if the Cauldron can widen those holes, perhaps you can close them, too. With training, in whatever time we have.” 

Before Nesta could process the request, Amren shot in. “I can show you. Or in theory I can. If we start soon - tomorrow morning.” She spoke momentarily to Rhysand. “When you go to the Court of Nightmares, we will go with you.” 

“What?” Feyre said it as Nesta thought it. 

  
“The Hewn City is a trove of objects of power, there may be opportunities to practice. Let the girl get a feel for what something like the Wall or the Cauldron might be like... covertly,” Amren clarified after noting the party’s horror. 

Nesta knew what the Wall would feel like - a gentle vice. Would she feel it more now? Would it have a greater hold on her? Preparing for such a thing certainly made sense, but she couldn’t help but think they were all overlooking the simplest solution.    
  


“Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?” No one answered her question. Their silence spoke volumes. 

Amren broke the silence with a tempting and altogether useless offer. “If you want his killing blow, girl, it’s yours.”

Nesta got the message. She stared off into the House, considering. They would kill Hybern, but there was no guarantee they could do it before the Wall came down. There was no telling how much power the Cauldron had regained, how much it had lost since she… 

“What happened to the human queens?”    
  


“What do you mean?” 

Nesta ignored Feyre and asked Azriel. The spymaster was the most likely to know. “Were they made immortal?” 

“Reports had been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.” So there was no way to know if the Cauldron had lost more power or not, and now way to guess when it would be strong enough again to take down the Wall. Preventative maintenance would have to be first priority. 

But fixing the Wall meant no holes and no way home. Was that a good thing?

“Why?” Cassian asked, sensing that Nesta knew something she wasn’t saying. But she had nothing to add that they hadn’t already assumed and considered. Without knowing for sure what happened to the queens, she couldn’t offer any insight to the timeline they had left. They were right to prioritize fixing the Wall. They would never see home again if this worked. Never get closure. Never see their father again. 

If the queens were south again, they’d never be able to get to them either. So one request, to make sure those bitches didn’t get away with anything was well in order. 

“By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens, all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the Wall.” Nesta nodded to Amren, “I’ll train with her,” she looked to Azriel, “I’ll go the Hewn City,” then she looked to Rhysand, “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” And finally, Nesta returned her gaze to Cassian, “But only if you promise me that.” 

“Fine,” Feyre said, and Nesta thought they were done. But as she put her napkin on the table, her sister added, “And we might need your assistance during the meeting with the High Lords. To provide testimony to the other courts and allies of what Hybern is capable of, what was done to you.” 

“No.” 

“You don’t mind fixing the Wall or going to the Court of Nightmares, but speaking to people is where you draw your line?” 

  
“No.”

“People’s lives might depend on your account of it. The success of this meeting with the High Lords might depend upon it.” 

“Don’t talk down to me. My answer is no.” 

“I understand that what happened to you was horrible-” 

“You have no idea what it was or was not. None. I am not going to grovel like one of the Children of the Blessed, begging  _ High Fae _ who would have  _ gladly  _ killed me as a mortal to help us. I’m not going to tell them that story,  _ my  _ story.” She’d read their racist little history. Humans were little more than chattel to them, why would they be moved by two sister’s being blessed with a higher existence? Why would she risk giving them insight into the torment of her soul? 

Feyre tried reasoning that wasn’t an insult this time. “The High Lords might not believe our account, which makes you a valuable witness-” Nesta cut her off. She wasn’t going to sit here to be cajoled into retelling the darkest years of her life because Feyre’s husband had built himself a liar’s reputation.    
  
“It’s not my problem if  _ you  _ are unreliable. I’ll help you with the Wall, but I am not going to whore my story around on your behalf,” Nesta stood to leave, then decided that preventative measures were needed. “And if you even dare suggest to Elain that she do such a thing, I will rip out your throat.” A glance to the rest was enough to let them all know that it wasn’t just Feyre’s esophagus that was in danger. 

Nesta didn’t wait for a response she just left. Elain was as asleep as she got these days when Nesta returned to her room. Fine enough for her. Nesta released her hair and stripped her dress, leaving both velvet and silver in a pile on the floor. She crawled into bed beside her sister and held her close, smothering the memories of malicious nothingness with the sweet scent of Elain. 

* * *

Nesta walked into the kitchen, surprised to find Cassian there at dawn. She hadn’t heard him fly in, and he and Feyre weren’t supposed to train for hours. 

“Is  _ that  _ what your hair looks like?” he smiled. Nesta unconsciously reached up to her loose mane of unruly frizz. Her hair was long and thick, somewhere between curly and wavy, and when left alone, had a tendency to expand out to her shoulders. Braiding it up and back was a necessity. She just didn’t think anyone would be up yet. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Cassian ran his eyes down her body, catching momentarily on the opening of her robe, before coming back to the nest of hair on her head and huffing a laugh. “Tea?” he asked, turning to the tea kettle. 

“What are you doing here?” She repeated. “Training isn’t until 8.” She assumed her training would begin then, too, but wasn’t certain. 

“We weren’t just going to leave you alone when there’s a fox in the hen house,” he answered, turning back and handing her a cup. So the blanket she had spotted on the couch on the way in was…  _ his?  _ He was here all night? Not even in his room, but the bottom of the stairs to her floor? She cautiously approached him and his stupid drink. Some part of her was aware that this was less clothing than she had worn in front of him, in front of any man, if she was being honest. But running away blushing seemed too much like admitting defeat. She wasn’t admitting defeat, she was offering a temporary truce. She stepped close and took the cup from him. Staying within reach, she watched his face as she took a long sip. 

Cassian took a breath in as she drank. “I was surprised you agreed to train with Amren.”    
  


Nesta rolled her eyes and turned away, leaning against the counter with her tea. She felt his eyes on her but kept her own gaze forward. After a beat and a sip, she said quietly, “I’m not about to let the Wall fall.” 

She half-expected him to bring up broken teacup, or her outburst in the library, or the denial to talk to the others. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he made a crack about her denying his offer to train, but accepting Amren’s. But he didn’t. Instead she felt his warm breath on her ear as he whispered, “I like your hair down.” 

  
Nesta forced herself not to react or panic, but she couldn’t stop the blush from travelling up her cheeks. She kept still, waiting. And so, it seemed, was he. Cassian hadn’t really made a move on her since that first private moment in her bedroom. He would start, and then hover near her, letting her decide if she wanted to escalate. She could kill him for that. How dare he? How dare he not kiss her? There was no way she could kiss him. It would rob her of the ability to deny that she wanted it. He had to know that. That had to be why he just stayed inches away, hovering with anticipation, taking her breath away. 

The kitchen door opened, and in walked Lucien, fully dressed in a green linen shirt and brown leather trousers, far more casual than the night prior. He took one look at them, practically cuddled against the counter, and focused on the lack of clothing on Nesta. His expression of panic is  _ exactly _ why Nesta didn’t bother to dress for breakfast this morning. 

“Don’t you knock?” she scowled, closing the robe despite it already closed enough to cover everything she could possibly hide with it. 

“Have you no sense of manners?” Cassian added, crossing his arms. 

“Mother help me, I just wanted to get breakfast.” Luciens dropped his face into his hand. “I’m not going to be killed for walking into the kitchen, am I?” 

“Not sure,” Nesta tilted her head up to Cassian, who seemed to enjoy the teasing. 

He shrugged, “Depends on how quickly you leave.”    
  


“So I can’t even get food for myself?” Lucien asked. 

“No one said that,” Nesta did her best to sound kind, “But to be safe I wouldn’t leave your chambers until after 8.” She smiled a malicious grin she used once upon a time to make human lordlings piss themselves. Lucien looked down at her, pale as a sheet, grimaced, and left. As soon as he was gone Nesta turned around and prepared Elain’s tray, pleased her talents work on Fae lordlings as well. She once again felt the weight of Cassian’s stare. Nesta picked up the food and headed for the door without meeting it. 

As she got to the door, she offered him some simple wisdom, “Women don’t have the luxury of growing up with brute strength,” she explained. “Sisters…” she paused, “have to be more vicious than mates.” 

* * *

Nesta was curious what Feyre’s training looked like. So after getting Elain settled back in her own room and getting dressed for the day, she thought she’d come down to the sitting room to wait for Amren and read while they trained. She had never really seen Feyre hunt before, though she knew she could, and part of her regretted that she never got to see Feyre do what she did best. There was no doubt in Nesta’s mind that her physical combat skills would be similarly suited to her. But all she found when she approached the balcony was two idiots chatting. They sparred a small amount, but it was nothing close to what she imagined. 

When they noted her presence, they stopped altogether. Cassian mistaking Nesta’s voyeurism for interest. He turned all his attention to her. This morning’s unspoken truce seemed to only be because neither had their morning tea yet, or maybe it was because she wasn’t dressed and he wanted her fully prepared for battle. Who knows.

“Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

“You can go back to your own training and stop trying to get me interested.” Nesta crossed her arms and leaned her weight on one foot. 

“But aren’t you though? You’re the one that came down to watch?” He winked. 

“Amren is coming to instruct me in a few—”

Before she could finish her sentence Azriel and his shadows crashed down next to her, ready to whisk Feyre away to her  _ flying  _ lesson. Cassien seemed a little put out by his presence, though Nesta couldn’t be sure why. Azriel had agreed to train her the night before, with reasoning that seemed more than logical. Did he have such a hard on for teaching that the thought of someone else doing it pissed him off?    
  


They both watched as Azriel took off with Feyre, leaving them alone together. Cassian considered her a moment. 

“I hate to say it, but… I liked the robe better.” 

“Of course you did.” 

“Train with me.”    
  


“I’d rather eat glass.” 

“You can do that afterwards.” 

“Why do you want me to train with you so bad?”    
  


“Don’t you actually want to  _ learn _ how to rip out throats? How to actually make good on your favorite threat?” 

“You actually want her to get more deadly?” Another voice called from in the house. Nesta turned her attention to Amren walking up. She was once again wearing grey harem pants and light grey tunic, though if inspected closely, the pattern was slightly different and the cloth had a different design woven throughout. Emeralds dangled from her ears as she sauntered up. 

“Won’t your training already handle that, Amren? ” Cassian smiled at the tiny woman. “I’m just indulging what she truly wants.” Amren just ignored his response and turned her attention to Nesta. 

“You won’t learn with all these distractions, girl. Follow me.” Amren left no opportunity for argument, turning on her heel and heading into the House. 

It wasn’t that Nesta didn’t want to go with Amren. It was just that she didn’t like to be ordered. She paused for a moment, considering if she wanted to start off the training with blind obedience or if she was just being unnecessarily difficult. But a quick glance at Cassian and his shit-eating grin was enough to make her scoff and follow Amren, regardless of the impression it gave off. 

* * *

Amren brought Nesta down to the library. Not to her usual cozy corner, but to a work room just off the side Nesta had barely noticed before. From the stagnant air and layers of dust, no one else had noticed it in quite some time. Nesta brushed her finger across the table top and scowled at the grime on her fingertips. 

“No one will bother us in here,” Amren flicked her wrist and the chairs pulled out from the table, now spotless.”Have a seat. girl.” 

Nesta took the chair opposite Amren and sat straight, as she was always taught to do. Amren stared at her, cocking her head slightly, expressionless and unblinking. Nesta matched her gaze with boredom. “Is a staring contest considered training?” 

“Consider it an exam,” Amren responded, her brow knitting slightly. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“You have quite the unusual mind. Natural mental shields are decent but ah… well now, that is something I haven’t felt in quite some time.” Amren blinked a few times. “We will have to start with control then.” 

“Control of what?”

Amren folded her hands under her chin. Her silver eyes glittered and Nesta felt the well within shudder. Warmth flooded her chest as the shuddering turned to crashing as the careful balance of power was shattered. Warmth became blistering heat and burning cold as Nesta lurched forward, white knuckling her chair and clenching her jaw so hard she was sure she was going to crack her teeth. 

The power wanted out. It was pounding the inside of her skin, looking for an escape, any escape, it would tear her apart if it meant it could get out. She was going to burst. She was going to explode and kill Amren, destroy this table, wreck the library.  _ The library.  _ She needed to bring it back into control. Sucking in the musty air of the too-tiny room through her teeth, Nesta began the careful process of breathing. In, long and deep, out, longer and deeper. Repeat. With every breath in, she was pushing the power back down, compacting it, containing it. With every breath out, she was robbing it of space to expand to. Minutes passed, countless breaths, and she fought that cursed power back into submission. 

Finally letting out a full breath, Nesta looked back up to see Amren sitting across from her leaning her head into her right hand, coated in dust, looking especially bored. “Control of  _ that.”  _

“You, Nesta Archeron, are a rarity,” Amren swatted away the dust that had gathered on her arm. “And I highly doubt it is  _ entirely  _ the Cauldron’s doing.” She moved on to the opposite shoulder. “Did you have to kick up  _ all  _ of the dust in this room?” Turning her attention back to Nesta, she turned back to the subject at hand. “You are a sponge. You absorb power. Steal it, really. Normally, it wouldn’t be much of a problem. But in your case, there is so much of the Cauldron sloshing around in there that any additional power will overwhelm you.” Amren nodded her head slightly and added, “Like it did now.” 

Nesta was still huffing from the exertion of containing what she had taken, but looked up at Amren. “What did you do?” 

Amren smiled her cat-grin, “I tried to touch you, give you a little vision. You just took it and absorbed it.” 

“Vision - like a glamour?” 

Amren considered. “Same concept but my flavour of glamours are more involved. Instead of confounding your senses to confound your mind, mine confound your mind to confound your senses. I suppose my glamours fall somewhere between a daemanti’s power and a traditional glamour.” 

“A daemanti?” Nesta knew the term but wasn’t entirely sure  _ where _ she had heard it. 

“What Rhysand and Feyre are. They can reach into minds and really play around.” 

That’s right. They were mentioned in  Magick: An Introduction to the Gifts from the Cauldron .  _ Fuck. _ “They’re mind-readers?” 

“Don’t worry, they haven’t read your mind. As a rule, they try to stay out of our heads, and as I said earlier - you do seem to have natural mental shields. To read or send thoughts, you either have to  _ let  _ them, or they have to really  _ try. _ ” 

“Would I even know if they did?” 

“Normally no, but… I imagine if either touched your mind, neither they nor the House would be present.”

“Why?” 

“Because you’d try to suck them dry... and erupt.” 

Nesta thought back to the Fae woman who met her in her prison cell. The look on her face. Jurian had said she tried to read her mind and couldn’t. Did it mean… was she always different? 

“So the first thing we need to do is teach you how to interact with magic without destroying or consuming it. The Wall is pure magic, if you touch it as you are, you will either suck it dry and rip it to pieces, or you will try to suck it dry and rip yourself to pieces.” 

“I’ve touched the Wall before. Nothing like that happened.” 

“When you were human?” 

“Yes. You said this… nature… might not be entirely from the Cauldron.” 

“We can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t,” Amren’s head turned uncomfortably deep to one side. “What makes you think that a human could take or even fathom that much power?” Nesta clenched her jaw and looked away. Amren continued on. “We only have a day so… we will start with shielding.” 

Amran held out her hands, and a book appeared within it. She placed it on the table in front of Nesta, flipping it open to a specific page. Nesta looked down and read the title of the chapter. “Shields: Defense is Key” Nesta huffed and turned up to Amren. 

“Don’t feel like teaching me yourself?”

“My magic is foriegn, girl, my explanation may not be applicable. The book will teach you the explanation, then  _ I  _ will teach you the application.” 

Nesta nodded. She leaned forward and began reading. The book was certainly more advanced than “Magick”, and far more useful, definitely less bigotted. It broke shielding down into its basic concept, with none of the flowery language. Shields came in two major types - mental and physical. Mental shields technically required no magic, though they would be much weaker without it. They were simple manifestations of the wish to keep others out. They required near constant attention at first, but after a time would become so standard for a mind that they’d remain even when the user wasn’t focusing. They would not be as strong without the user’s attention, but they would at least let the user know someone was  _ trying _ to play around, and could alert the user when they needed to be reinforced with extra magic. The book made an emphasis that mental shields only helped against daemanti, a rare and powerful type of magic user, and not against glamours. 

The second type of shield- the physical kind, absolutely required magic. It was different for all magic users. For some instinctual magic users, when applicable- it was usually one of the earliest manifestations of their magic. For intentional magic users, it was recommended to be one of the first spells they learned. 

“What’s instinctual and intentional magic?” Nesta asked, not bothering to look up. Amren sighed and conjured another book. Opening it and tossing it haphazardly on the table. 

A quick read of chapter “Instinctual and Intentional Magic” provided more description. Instinctual magic was natural, less “learned” and more “honed”. Instinctual magic was limited by the user’s own power and had rigid and distinct presentations, usually tied both to the Court and the species of Fae. It gave examples, such as Suriels’ knowledge and Autumn High Lords’ dominion over flame. This was inline with what  Magick had described. The next bit completely contradicted everything that bigotted book had to say. 

Intentional magic was, essentially, spellcasting, and was not limited to any species or court. Anyone who had the time and resources to learn spells could use intentional magic. Theoretically, they wouldn’t even need to possess instinctual magic to be able to use it. Nesta sat up straighter. The book did clarify that the more innate magic the user had, the easier it was to cast spells, especially the powerful ones. It didn’t change the truth of it. Nesta looked up at Amren.

“Humans  _ can _ use magic.” 

Amren nodded. “The fae have done their damnedest to keep them away from spell books for that reason. Now - do you think you can manifest a shield instinctually, or do you want to go back to actually reading the chapter I told you to.” She pointed back to the chapter on shields. Detailed further down on the page was a spell of Shielding. 

Nesta wanted to rage, and her power wanted to rage with her. But Amren’s cool expression made it clear that she was going to have none of it. So Nesta swallowed down her indignation and considered the question posed instead. The book said that when it was applicable to the power, shielding was one of the first manifestations of it. In her two months here, she had never felt anything to suggest passive shielding. Her power only swelled with intent to kill. Nesta pulled the book closer and read the spell. 

The spell was simple enough. It involved flicking a hand up and reciting some words in a language Nesta didn’t recognize. She began to sound them out. 

“Ach lilt tillie ha-rave,” Amren corrected Nesta’s pronunciation. “It is ancient Sylvan, most spells are written in it. It means ‘protect from harm.’ Move your chair back.” Nesta scooted her chair away from the table. “Now - say it faster, thinking about the meaning, and doing the motion.” 

Nesta repeated the words and flicked her hand up. As soon as she did, she felt warmth in her fingertips and watched as a translucent wall appeared between her and Amren. Turning her head, she saw that it wrapped around to entirely encompass her and the chair. Amren nodded. “Good.” 

“It’s really this easy?” Nesta asked. As soon as she asked the question, the wall dissolved. 

“For you, this one is. You have significant power and it’s a simple spell. More complex ones take more time to learn and master. Now, cast it again and hold it up this time. Focus on it”

Nesta repeated the spell and concentrated on the shield this time. Amren’s eyes flashed, and Nesta felt the shield tremble as Amren’s magic collided with it. The shield dissolved again, but Amren’s attack had been deflected. “Reinforce the shield as soon as you feel the attack.” Nesta repeated the spell. Amren’s eyes flashed and the shield trembled. Nesta wasn’t entirely sure how to reinforce the shield, so this time too, it fell. Amren glowered at Nesta. “I said to reinforce the shield.” 

“How?” 

Amren huffed. “Cast the spell again.” Nesta raised her shield again. “Now, pour more magic into the shield.” 

“How?” 

“You’ve released power before, yes? Release it into the shield.” 

Nesta recalled the feeling of boiling cold in her fingertips from when she evaporated the water in the tub. She raised her hand to her shield and tried to conjure the same feeling. Nothing. 

“You have to let the power out to use it.” 

Nesta clenched her jaw and reached within, slowly drawing up the damned power and directing it to her finger tips, to the shield. The shield pulsed and hardened. Nesta didn’t notice when Amren’s eyes flashed, she only felt the attack reverberate in the shield. But it didn’t fall this time. Amren attacked it again and again, and the shield did not fall. 

“Good. Relax. Drop it.” Nesta released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and dropped the shield. “Again.” Amren’s eyes began to flash and Nesta barely got the words out before she felt Amren’s magic collide with the shield. It held. 

“Do it again, without the hand movement.” 

“But it’s a spell…” The confusion of asking about the spell broke Nesta’s concentration, and the shield came down.   
  


“You  _ have _ instinctual magic, girl. You don’t need the spell to form a shield. You need a spell to show what your shield  _ feels _ like. Sit on your hands.” Nesta did as she was told. “Now form the shield again.” Nesta repeated the magic words. And nothing happened. “Think about the shield, about pouring your own magic into it, and reform it.” 

Nesta thought about what it felt like to pour her power into the shield, and started to raise her hand. “Don’t you dare move that hand.” She paused and glared at Amren. 

“It helps me visualize.”    
  


“It’s a crutch. You don’t need it.”   
  


“Yes I do.” 

Amren flashed her eyes and Nesta didn’t have time to raise her hand or say the words. She closed her eyes on instinct, as if she was about to get slapped in the face. But she felt no impact of Amren’s power, none of the burning cold of her power disturbed. Opening her eyes, her shield was there - hard and intact. 

“Never close your eyes to an opponent. You are lucky I didn’t actually attack that time. You would be dead.” Nesta scowled and opened her mouth to complain, but Amren spoke over her. “Complain after you survive this damn war. Raise and drop the shield five more times, and we’ll move on to manipulating it.” Nesta huffed and did as she was told. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! Between end of year crunch at work, leaving that job, my sister's wedding, Thanksgiving, and entering a two week long martial arts tournament, I had no time to write. The plus side, I'm now voluntarily unemployed and have plenty of time to write while I find my next job! 
> 
> Notes about the actual chapter:   
> \- Morrigan and Nesta's dress thing is (in this fic, anyway) 100% Nesta thinking Mor is flirting with her and flirting back the only way Nesta can, and Mor thinking she accidently gave the impression she was flirting with Nesta and then got rejected by her. And Cassian realizing that is how Nesta flirts and getting the hell out of dodge to compartmentalize her flirting with Mor.  
> \- Nesta hates the concept of Mates a lot. She also doesn't know that the bond can be rejected. (who writes legends and love stories where the bond is rejected??)   
> \- Nesta does not clean her room.   
> \- Sarah never explained magic properly so I designed the magic system. You're welcome.


	37. Lucid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain is mostly lucid today. The sisters get to have a little chat

Amren kept her word. Just when Nesta felt confident in an application of the ability, she would move on. They moved on from raising the shield over herself to raising it to protect other things and places. From there it was raising multiple shields at once. Once she had that down, she had to manipulate the shield so it sat just under her skin, indetectable to all except Amren and her poking, prodding, persistent power. 

When Nesta finally nailed that piece, Amren nodded. “Drop the shields.” Nesta relaxed and let the shields come down. Just as she was letting herself breath and recoup, she felt the cloying tingle of Amren’s power. Nesta had her shield up immediately, before it could disturb her equilibrium.

“Good,” Amren nodded as Nesta kept her shield up. “Move the shield to cover your insides.” Nesta nodded and did as she was told. A smooth, uncomfortable layer of protection gently hugged her organs, making Nesta shiver. 

“That is your last line of defense. That shield stays up from now on.” Nesta swallowed, not really liking the idea of feeling this for an extended period of time. “Now, focus on me. Block as far out as you can where you feel it.” 

They sat there for the rest of the afternoon, Amren shooting out her power to random places on Nesta and Nesta rushing to block the power before it reached deep enough to do anything. The internal shield did not move, staying in place in case Nesta missed. Amren did attack her mind a few times, but that piece was the easiest to block. Nesta was surprised - though she shouldn’t have been - to find walls of iron and ashwood within her mind. All she needed to do to keep Amren out was reinforce them with just a hint of magic. Feeling the branches grow and weave together, her mind became a veritable fortress. 

That’s when Amren dropped her line of attack to Nesta’s heart. Nesta was almost too late, almost. Her teacher was unrelenting, and all business. There was no opportunity to look away or focus on other things. It was kind of frustrating when Feyre came in to interrupt their practice and Amren managed to carry on a conversation while simultaneously  _ upping _ the frequency of her attacks. From the ever so faint smile on her face, Amren was absolutely aware that this was near fucking impossible. 

Especially when they brought up a prison. A prison that couldn’t possibly  _ the Prison. _ But the more they spoke, the more it seemed that Feyre was asking about the Prison. The horrible place described in  Prisoners, Weavers, and other Aberrations . She couldn’t keep it in anymore. She had to confirm it. 

“What’s the Prison?”    
  
Amren answered her question with another burst of power and then with a warning. “A hell entombed in stone, full of creatures you should thanks the Mother no longer walk the earth freely.” So it  _ was _ the Prison, the menagerie of aberrations. Why was Feyre trying to coyly ask about the Prison? Were they going to try and throw Hybern there? Maybe hide the Cauldron there? Would it be safe with the other Prisoners? 

“I am giving a magic lesson, not a history one,” Amren dismissed Feyre. “If you want someone to gossip with, go find one of the dogs. I’m sure Cassian’s still sniffing around upstairs.” 

Maybe Nesta was a little mean-spirited, but seeing Amren dismiss Feyre so readily made her want to smile. There was no bonding or deep conversation between the two of them, but just honest and professional training. Nesta felt herself growing ever so slightly fond of Amren. However, letting herself smile meant relaxing, which dropped the shields. Amren went in for the kill and Nesta had to rush to cover her lungs before she got there. 

“ _ Concentrate. _ Vital organs  _ must _ be shielded at all times.” Nesta took a second and reconstructed her shields. Amren sent another barrage of magic at her while Feyre was saying something in the doorframe. 

“Good luck,” Feyre finally said by way of saying goodbye. 

“She doesn’t need luck.” Amren immediately shot back. Whether she meant it in defense of her teaching or Nesta’s ability, it still made Nesta laugh despite herself. And this time she made sure to keep the shields up. 

* * *

Training kept going until Nesta’s stomach made a noise so loud it could no longer be ignored.

“Fine, we can break for now. Go get dinner.”  _ Dinner?  _ Just how long have they been at it? “You’re strong enough for the Hewn City.” Amren stood up. “Keep your shield up though, if it falls, raise it again.” 

Amren led them out of the room and back to the library. The first thing Nesta noticed was the dark night sky through the windows, then the height of the moon. It wasn’t just dinnertime. It was late. Very late. They had lost all sense of time in that musty, fae-lit room. 

_ Elain _ . 

She had left Elain alone all day long. Nesta picked up speed, not quite running, but heading definitively to her sister’s room. She tore up the steps, not taking in any details of her surroundings. She vaguely heard someone call out to her as she passed. Bursting into Elain’s room, she found her sister in bed. 

She was awake. She was lucid. And she was well-lit. 

There were maybe a dozen candles surrounding her, on the floor, the bedside tables, one in her hand, too. There was no smell other than burning wax. She hadn’t messed herself then. Either she hadn’t gone all day or she actually made it to the bathroom on her own. 

“Where did you find the candles?” 

“Your room.” Probably in one of the drawers Nesta never opened. 

“You got them yourself?” 

“...I did.” 

“Do you need anything?” 

“It would probably be good to have some water. Just in case,” Elain motioned to the candles. 

Nesta smiled. “I have just the thing.” 

Minutes later, Nesta had returned with one of her bathing buckets, full with water from the bath. She placed it on the floor next to the bed. 

“Can I ask...,” 

“I last saw him in the candlelight,” Elain tucked her knees up. Graysen and Elain had last seen each other at the wedding. The last good night. They got roaring drunk with their friends. “We decided to have our first dance in candlelight.” Nesta sat down next to her and slowly reached out to hold her close. Elain let herself fall into her sister and closed her eyes when Nesta began stroking her hair. 

“It would have been beautiful.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, watching the candles around them. Nesta had nearly forgotten what candlelight looked like, and she missed it. Everything in this house was lit by magic. Useful, safer, but somehow less magical. Green and cold, instead of warm and soft. Their bittersweet moment was broken when Elain spoke again. “Nesta.” 

“Yes?” 

“Your stomach is really loud.”

They both giggled despite themselves. “I’ll eat when you eat,” Nesta offered. 

Elain nodded and leaned away. Nesta got up and went back downstairs to get food for them both. This time her rush was only hunger, not deep concern, and she actually took the time to register Cassian’s presence. He was standing with Amren, arguing really. 

“She is strong enough for now, Cassian.” 

“You just said all she can do is shield,” he countered. Then more to himself, he said, “I should have insisted she train with me.” 

“There are more types of strength than wielding blades and ending lives, boy. If I say she is ready for tomorrow, then she is ready.” Amren crossed her arms. She noted Nesta first. “You eat something.” With that, Amren left, muttering something about wanting the spiced good stuff for herself. 

Cassian turned to Nesta, trying to act as though he wasn’t just fighting about her. “How’s Elain?” 

“Shove it,” Nesta turned away and went to the kitchen. She picked up a roll and started to eat it as she prepared a tray for her and Elain. Cassian followed her in. 

“I wasn’t suggesting you were weak.” Nesta didn’t answer and just locked eyes as she took another bite of her roll before turning her full attention to fetching dinner. One of the many blessings of the House was how all the food stayed fresh and warm, even when it was left on the counter for hours for the sisters. She piled a tray with baked chicken, lemon and parmesan green beans, roasted carrots, and herb potatoes. Just in case, she also got a bowl of soup. That Elain seemed to agree to eat so easily was a miracle, and Nesta wasn’t naive enough to think she’d eat the meat and vegetables. 

She wasn’t up to going 5 rounds with Cassian and his misplaced concern. She had a good day. Amren was a good teacher. Elain was lucid, she was even going to eat. She wasn’t going to fight over whether the one thing she actually learned to do with her power was enough or not. It would have to be. She picked up the tray and headed out the door. Cassian again followed. 

He seemed like he was going to say something else, but Nesta just cut him off. “Goodnight Cassian.”

Nesta walked upstairs to her sister. Elain only drank the broth from the soup, but they actually had a pleasant, candle-lit dinner. The first dinner Elain had in 2 months. 

* * *

Amren didn’t plan on coming over until they were ready to leave for the Hewn City, so Nesta didn’t need to rush downstairs for training. And even though she was up terribly late the night before, and ate a large meal before going to sleep, she still woke from hunger at the crack of dawn. It was a familiar feeling, and was probably to be expected. She was warned that using magic was more exhausting than anything else a person could do. And that it required quite a bit more fuel. 

Getting up and getting breakfast was the first priority. Nesta rose and dressed. Braiding her hair in its usual updo as she went to check on Elain, Nesta was already thinking about what jams might be available today. Then her heart stopped. Elain’s room was empty. Her bed was cold. 

_ Lucien.  _

Nesta ran from the room, knocking the suite door clean off its hinges as she tore through it.  _ If that bastard laid so much as a finger on her sweet Elain… _ She could feel that awful power rising, stoked by her blind anger. She gave into it, just for now, letting it come out. She had warned him, Rhysand had warned him. If he couldn’t keep his filthy mitts to himself, his death was hardly her fault. 

She didn’t make it half way down the stairs before seeing Cassian standing in her way. He seemed to be walking up on his own, probably responding to the sound of the door. She made to push past him, and he held his arms out, blocking her way. She didn’t stop. She barrelled right through, using her new shield to knock him against the wall, barely moving her hand to do so. 

She continued down, unsure of where Lucien stayed, but it wouldn’t take long to find him. She could always just destroy the house to sniff him out. It couldn’t be that hard. Nesta made it two more steps before red filled up her vision. She walked right into it. A shield. Not hers. 

She spun around to see Cassian’s arm extended, his red gem glowing - the same color as the shield. He stopped her.

She damn near growled, but Cassian yelled over her. 

“She’s in the Library!” He called. The information calmed Nesta slightly, and he pressed on, stepping closer. “Elain wandered out of your suite about an hour ago and made her way to the library. Lucien is still in his room.” A breath out, and the power settled down a little.  _ Elain was in the library? _ “She’s fine. She’s alone. She’s in the library,” Cassian repeated, taking a step with every sentence.

Nesta took another breath and settled the power completely. It was… easier than the last time. She opened her eyes and calmly regarded Cassian. “Are you going to let me see my sister?” 

“Are you going to tear down the House?” 

“If you don’t let me see my sister, I just might.” 

Cassian nodded and the light faded from his gem. The shield dropped. Nesta turned on her heel and made a beeline for the library. Cassian slumped against the couch, watching her go. 

Elain was kneeling on the couch next to Nesta’s favorite chair, looking out at the city. She seemed peaceful. Was she supposed to be worried or proud? Elain left her room. She  _ left _ her room. She had even  _ dressed _ . And… she spoke to Nesta first. 

“I could smell you,” Elain brushed her hand on the arm of the chair. 

“Is that why you came down here?” 

“It’s afraid of its sister, too, but it will fight with her.”   
  


“Elain?”

“Your stomach is loud.” 

This was… new. Elain was usually either entirely gone or entirely lucid. This seemed to be somewhere between. Nesta took a seat next to her sister and waited, watching. Elain had been getting better. She thought Elain was getting better. Is this what better looks like? Is she more lucid during her insanity? Or is she more insane in her lucidity? Nesta wished she had an answer. 

After an hour or so, it seemed as though Elain was not going to leave. She had adjusted to standing by the window, simply looking out. She didn’t move, or seem tired, she just… stood there. Nesta settled in herself, getting a book from the stacks and half-reading it. Never allowing herself to disappear into the words, keeping her senses honed to Elain, to whatever she was doing. 

And the day passed. She heard the flapping, and moments later saw Cassian fly down to the city, to do whatever duties the Night Court General actually had. The gentle warmth of morning sun gave way to the oppressive brightness of the afternoon. Through the open window, they could hear the bustle of a city come to life. Elain would comment occasionally, saying something to Nesta, something to herself, something to the horizon. One of the unseen servants of the House left them a tray by the door. Nesta fetched it, bringing in tea, cookies, and lunch. She served Elain some tea she didn’t drink, and offered her food. Elain refused all of it, and Nesta didn’t press. She didn’t want a commotion down here. Instead Nesta settled back into her chair and devoured all the fruit and cheese the servants had brought in. 

They watched as Feyre and Azriel flew up to the House, noted the crash landing, and waited for their sister to find them. She did, eventually, and surprisingly, alone. Nesta clicked her tongue and turned a page. Feyre had not bothered to speak to her sisters alone since… she was human. She had left her  _ mate _ to stand guard on their roof when she first came to visit, so one couldn’t say she was truly alone then. Nesta had more one on one time with Azriel than her own sister recently. 

“Where’s your menagerie of friends?” Nesta asked, wondering if Feyre would realize what she had. 

“Those friends have offered you shelter and comfort.”  _ Apparently not. _ “Are you ready for tonight?” 

“Yes.” Nesta returned to her book. If Feyre didn’t want to talk to her family, then Nesta saw no reason to keep the conversation going. 

“What are you looking at?” Feyre was asking Elain. Nesta never bothered to ask that question, just assuming Elain was staring at nothing. She felt a little guilty when Elain actually did give an answer. 

“I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.” 

“It takes some getting used to,” Feyre admitted. 

Elain spoke again, “I can hear your heartbeat - if I listen carefully. I can hear her heartbeat, too.” Nesta could hear it as well. She had been hyper-aware of it at first, but as Feyre said. It was just something she had gotten used to. Elain continued on. “I can hear the sea. Even at night. Even in my dreams. The crashing sea- and the screams of a bird made of fire.” And there was the turn. Lucidity to lunacy. She sounded like their mother - in the end, when she needed poppy to ease the pain. 

“There is a garden at my other house. I’d like for you to come and tend it, if you’re willing.” That was the first they had heard of the other house, though Nesta suspected its existence. A kind offer, nevertheless. If Elain was up to being out of her room, perhaps being in a garden would be helpful. 

“Will I hear the earthworms writhing through the soil? Or the stretching of roots? Will the bird of fire come to sit in the trees and watch me?” 

Was that why she hadn’t been able to sleep? Was that why she hadn’t left her room? Nesta could hear more now, too. But she had grown accustomed to it. And she had the library here, damping all sounds in the house. Did Elain hear better than she? Perhaps it was just the fear speaking, but Nesta had to consider the very real possibility that Elain got something extra from the Cauldron as well. If she could hear better than Nesta could now, how much harder would that make her life? Nesta had kept the window open because she enjoyed the quiet bustle of the city. But did it sound like shouting to Elain? Nesta summoned a shield and used it to close and seal the window, for now. While Elain was here, she could leave the window closed. 

“There is a book I need you to help me find, Nesta,” Feyre made her intention rather obvious. She had now seen Elain semi-lucid, and maybe now she understood  _ why _ Nesta was so hesitant to let others near her. Nesta did a final check of her seal, and followed her sister to a stack. 

Feyre threw up her own shield, one of wind, as soon as they were behind a set of stacks. 

“How did you get her to leave her room?” From the frank way Feyre put it, the shield was probably soundproofing them. 

Nesta crossed her arms and leaned against the legends and epics. “I didn’t. I found her in here, she wasn’t in bed when I awoke.”  _ Well, Cassian told me she was in here, but if he didn’t tell you then I’m not going to.  _

“Did she eat anything?” 

“No. I managed to get her to drink some broth last night. She refused anything else. She’s been talking in those half-riddles all day.”    
  


“Did anything happen to trigger-” 

“I don’t know. I check on her every few hours.” Nesta had been thinking about that since the candles last night. “Though I was gone for longer yesterday.” Much too long, apparently. 

“I doubt anything happened. Maybe it’s just… part of the recovery process. Her adjustment to being Fae.” From the sound of it, Feyre didn’t believe that either, but she was trying to make her sister feel better, and Nesta could appreciate that. 

“Does she have powers? Like mine?” If Elain heard more and saw further, maybe that was part of it. Maybe she was afraid of erupting, too. Maybe the Cauldron gave her something worse. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Unless this is the first sign of something manifesting. Let’s give her a day or two, see what happens. If she improves.”  _ This  _ is _ better.  _ Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say that. It had been two unrelenting months of  _ this.  _ What the fuck was two days going to do? 

Amren had pretty clearly said that Feyre could read minds. Perhaps... perhaps here, just the two of them, it was time to use that power and figure out exactly what was going on in Elain’s head. 

“Why not now?” 

“Because we’re going to the Hewn City in a few hours. And you don’t seem inclined to want us shoving into your business. I doubt Elain does, too.” 

She was right. It was an absolute violation. Amren had said they don’t go poking around in their heads as a general rule. Nesta was desperate, but robbing her sister of her privacy was not the right way to handle it. 

“Well, at least she left the room,” Nesta finally said, resolving  _ never  _ to ask Feyre to read her sister’s mind. 

“And the chair,” Feyre through in. Nesta assumed they were done when Feyre threw in. “Why won’t you train with Cassian?” 

Nesta rolled her eyes so hard she was sure they’d be permanently lodged in the back of her skull. “Why is it only Cassian that I may train with? Why not the other one?” 

“Azriel?” 

“Him,” Azriel would actually be a pleasant option. “Or the blond one who won’t shut up,” she said it so Feyre would get the message that literally  _ anyone  _ would be better than Cassian. 

“If you’re referring to Mor-” 

“And why must I train at all? I am no warrior, nor do I desire to be.” 

“It could make you strong.”    
  


“There are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives,” and because she knew Feyre wouldn’t take it from her, “Amren told me that yesterday.” 

“You said you wanted our enemies dead. Why not kill them yourself?” 

“Why bother when someone else can do it for me?” It was the Lady’s way of doing things, after all. And with the timeline they had, it was probably the smarter option. There was no way Nesta would get good enough to fight Hybern when they needed her to. There was no time. 

“We’re -” 

“You left your room.” The sound of Lucien’s voice stilled them both.  _ He’s not supposed to come in here.  _ Nesta immediately started to leave. But Feyre grabbed Nesta’s arm, stopping her in her tracks. She tried to pull away, but Feyre shushed her and held on, wanting instead to listen. She was tired, she was angry, and she was not concentrating one but on her shields.

“Is…is there anything I can get for you?” Nesta asked her sister with a voice not at all her own. 

_ Too thin.  _

_ She must not be eating at all.  _

Nesta watched her sister through a stranger’s eyes. Heard his thoughts, felt his own anger at the match, at fate. And felt nothing but horror and guilt as she saw his relocations of his once great love. She felt his joy when Elain spoke to him, she felt his crushing disappointment when she accused him of betrayal. She was jealous when Elain spoke of Graysen. Both she and Lucien were heartbroken at her admission of his imminent rejection. 

And then Nesta was back in her body, and Feyre was holding her arm, and she was seeing with her own eyes again. She looked down at Feyre’s grasp, and back up to Feyre’s face, realizing what Feyre had done. Amren had said that they don’t go into their friends’ minds, but there was no way for her to know that, was there? There was no way to know someone was poking around. 

“Have you ever gone into  _ my- _ ” 

“No,” Feyre was out of breath. Walking in someone else’s mind must be exhausting, then. The shields came down and the sisters marched out to a very spooked Lucien. 

Nesta couldn’t summon anger towards him, not after what Feyre had made her see. But it didn’t change her belief that his presence couldn’t possibly help Elain at the moment. Calmly, yet sternly, Nesta commanded him to leave. 

“Get out.” 

“I came for a book.” She knew that already, and she sympathized. So she gave him a small kindness. 

“Well find one and leave.” 

“She needs fresh air” 

The good will Feyre had built him by forcing his perspective on her was starting to wear. One conversation was not enough to truly know Elain. “We’ll judge what she needs.” 

He was getting angry, so he turned to Feyre. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out this house for an hour to two,” he made his final plea for the sake of Elain and left. If Nesta wasn’t put out by the insolence, she might have respected him a bit more. In other circumstances, she might have been more fond of him after such display of concern for a beloved sister.

Feyre was studying her sisters when she said, “You’re moving to the town house right now.”  _ Oh thank the Wall. Yes, get us away from him.  _

* * *

30 minutes later when they were standing out on the balcony with Lucien and the three bats, Nesta had some… objections. 

“What the fuck, Feyre?” Everyone except Elain turned towards Nesta, with varying levels of shock on their face. “Are we not moving to get  _ away _ from him? Why is he coming along?” Nesta jerked her thumb in Lucien’s direction. He had decency to not look angry and only slightly annoyed. 

“We’re moving you so you won’t be so isolated. The townhouse will give you access to the city,” Rhysand piped in to cover for Feyre. 

“And why does Lucien have to come along?” 

Rhysand looked over to Feyre as if to say “your friend, your problem.” Feyre cleared her throat. “The House is isolating for him, too. It would be unfair to leave him here.” 

Nesta had long since lost any and all sense of patience. “Then what, exactly, would you call the two months we were up here?” 

Feyre looked immediately to Rhysand, who looked away. Whatever silent conversation they were having, she wasn’t going to get her answer there. Cassian jumped in, swaggering up to her. 

“Well Nesta, we all know how you just clamoured to spend time out of the house. It really is our bad that we didn’t know how much you wanted to leave the House.” 

Nesta glared up at him. But Feyre came back to give her final word on the matter. “We’re all moving to the townhouse so we can all move independent of one another, ok? Let’s go.” 

Azriel held Elain’s hand and nodded to her. “I’m going to pick you up now, ok?” He lifted her into his arms, holding her by the back and knees, and jumped off. As soon as he took off, Cassian turned towards Nesta with a predatory grin. She knew, just knew, his hands would not stay politely on her knees and and back. She backed away from him, maintaining her glare. 

“Let’s just go,” Feyre repeated, nudging her sister towards her husband and practically shoving Lucien into Cassian. She then jumped off the side of the House before anyone could argue further. 

Rhysand offered a polite hand to Nesta and she took it. Rhysand hauled her up into a similar carry and launched off into the sky. The flight was gentle, peaceful even, and far too slow. Cassian and Lucien had already outpaced them. Elain would be alone. “Do you have to fly so slow?”

“Oh? You want faster?” 

“Anything is better than this snail pace.” 

“Anything?” As soon as Rhysand said it, Nesta regretted it. He went faster, alright. But he also went  _ up _ , and  _ down, _ and he spun them around several times. Right when they were close to the ground, where Nesta would assume the townhouse was, he pulled back up, doing a full loop and hitting the ground, finally, almost perpendicular to it. “Fast enough?” he asked as he set her down. 

Nesta didn’t respond as her stomach was still doing loop-de-loops. She clamped her hand to her mouth and rushed into the house. Feyre pointed her to a toilet and Nesta didn’t bother to thank her as she ran to the cool porcelain and threw up the ton of food she was instructed to eat.

Once it was empty, Nesta took a second to collect herself.  _ That little prick. _ Standing was difficult, but she did it. Walking was harder, but spite was always her best motivator. She emerged from the powder room ready to rip into her smug brother-in-law. She probably couldn’t kill him, but a collapsed lung or broken arm might be doable. She stepped closer, sizing up whatever power he had, letting her own rise to match it. 

“Do you know,” Cassian sauntered in her way, casually protecting his High Lord, “the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?” He wasn’t just bringing up the story to stop her from hurting Rhysand. He was warning her. That she could be separated from Elain. “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish  _ her. _ ” 

Nesta blinked a couple times. Was he? Was he admitting that it was Rhysand’s fault? That Cassian seemed to be implicitly suggesting he was on her side was enough to shock her back into herself. That twice today Cassian had calmed her down from destruction. 

She didn’t know what to make of that. 

“What  _ are  _ you?” It was Lucien who asked it. His fear was palpable, and invigorating. Fine. If they were going to be forced to live in close quarters, it would be better if he knew  _ why _ he should be so terrified.    
  


“I  _ made  _ it give something  _ back _ ,” was all she gave by way of explanation before requesting her room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. They never explain how Nesta knew Feyre walked into Lucien's mind, so I'm going with "Feyre accidently and unknowingly took her sister with her"  
> 2\. "Nesta did not object" my juicy ass  
> 3\. Cassian was once again sleeping at the House to keep guard over them.   
> 4\. Shit, nesta is actually *in* the rest of the book so I can't just make shit up about bitchy courtesans. Looking at 50 chapters now  
> 5\. Next chapter Nesta gets to be judgy mc judgerson of the Night Court ladies' clothes. 
> 
> Hopefully AO3 actually puts this in the tag when I updated it so people see it. Even the subscriber email was 2 hours after I updated.


	38. Hewn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Amren pick up various items and have a good laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!  
> Mention of sexual assault

“I don’t need you to dress me, Amren,” Nesta crossed her arms at the incredibly tight, incredibly gorgeous black silk dress in her tutor's hands. The fabric was obsidian, seemingly sucking in the light around it. It was perfect for someone like Nesta. 

“The Court of Nightmares has a dress code for its females,” Amren hung the dress on the back of the bedroom door. This new room was smaller than her last two by far, lacking the in-suite sitting room she had grown accustomed to. At least the jack-and-jill bathroom was only shared with Elain. And it had a perfect view of the garden. 

“Black?” Nesta asked, gesturing to the dress.

“Pornographic,” Amren answered, conjuring another set of garments and tossing them to Nesta. Calling this garment a dress was generous, the material was barely even  _ fabric. _ It was black lace, the stuff you sew  _ onto _ other fabric so you can add texture and still see everything underneath. 

Nesta felt herself blush and looked up at the dress hanging on her door. It appeared to have a high collar, sleeves, and a complete bodice. Moreover, it was opaque. Hardly a qualification she would have considered for any of her other dresses, but it could have had a plunging neckline and a slit up to her hip and still be better than the gossamer in her hands. 

“But I figured oppressive fit you better, girl.” 

“You’re right,” Nesta threw the lace back to Amren, who caught it and immediately transported it back to whatever location she stole it from. 

Nesta pulled her dress over her head, tossing it on the floor next to her. Amren cocked her head at the undergarments, a movement Nesta noted. “What?”

“You haven’t found the bras yet?” 

“The what?” 

Amren squinted and walked over to the dresser. Opening the top drawer she pulled out sturdy pieces of garments Nesta was sure were missing a few yards of fabric. They were shaped like the tops of Clare’s custom chemises, but lacked the accompanying skirt. Amren handed one to Nesta. 

“A bra.” 

Nesta let it dangle off of her fingertips. The straps were thin and shiny, the cups thick and stuffed, covered in lace. The back opened and was held together with  _ hooks _ .“The fuck is this supposed to do?” 

“Hold…” Amren gestured to Nesta’s chest, “things”

Nesta snorted a laugh and let the thing fall to the floor. “Maybe yours, but not mine.” It seemed so unsubstantial and deeply uncomfortable when compared to her own chemises. The ones provided in the House of Wind lacked the custom cups and only had ties to tighten at the top. Nesta had been wearing one of her own when she came in, and it was the only garment she made sure to wash and reuse. 

Nesta grabbed the dress off of the door and pulled it over her head. Amren came up behind her and helped pull the skirt down to the floor. “Laces,” she said as she began adjusting and tightening the laces up the back. “Give your chemise to Nuala or Cerridwen when we get back, they will get you more.” 

Nesta nodded, grunting a bit at the aggressive tightness of Amren’s lacing, and at Amren’s choice to test her shields  _ now.  _ But they were up. She hadn’t let them drop since Feyre’s little seasonal mind-walk. 

“I know the reputation the Fae have in your home, girl. The Court of Nightmares is one of the few places in Prythian that lives up to that reputation.” Amren warned. “When we get to the Court, do not flinch at what you see. They cannot be ruled except through fear.” Amren finished tying the laces and turned her around. “Do not give them a reason to think you balk.” This close, Amren’s short stature was almost shocking. Her normal presence was such that she seemed 30 feet tall. 

“When have I ever?” she returned. Amren smiled up at her and held out a twisted iron chignon pin that looked positively blood-thirsty. 

Nesta felt her braids. They were still tight and intact - despite Rhysand’s flying - but it was the wrong look for such a harsh dress. She smiled ever so slightly and took the pin. Sitting at the vanity, Nesta let her down and began to comb it out and up into a sweeping twist. Amren relayed more instructions as she did her hair. 

“We will enter with the others. Stay by my side and follow my lead. While we are in the throne room, you need to obey orders given by either Rhysand or Feyre. It is an act, but an act we all must  _ all  _ partake.” 

Nesta never liked obeying orders, and the thought of doing so now soured her tongue. But the way everyone was on edge about the city, the way they referred to it - the Court of Nightmares - there wasn’t much of a choice, was there? Nesta stuck the pin into her twist, careful not to scrape her scalp with its brutal edges. A weapon, Amren had given her a perfectly hidden weapon. She could play along with an act for now.

Nesta forgoed any makeup. It was useless now, anyway. There were no blemishes left to cover. She stopped by the garden before heading to the sitting room to wait for Feyre. The little patch of greenery was perfectly visible from Nesta’s bedroom window. Elain had been there since they arrived, sitting in one of the iron chairs, ignoring the tea growing cold in front of her. Azriel sat up as Nesta walked out. He had also been there since they arrived, neither talking to Elain nor imposing on her. He merely laid out on a lounge chair some 10 feet away, reading his own paperwork. Nesta felt nothing but gratitude for how gently they all treated Elain, how respectful they were around her. 

She walked over to her sister.   
  


“Do you want anything?” she asked. Elain turned over to her sister and looked her up and down. And something like tears formed in her eyes.

“The lily’s iron.” 

Nesta didn’t know what she meant or why she was crying but when she reached out, Elain pulled back. She didn’t have a chance to inquire further before the rest of the group called her and Azriel to the sitting room. They exchanged a glance, the Illyrian shaking his head. He, too, had no idea what Elain was talking about. Or why she started crying. They were called to the sitting room again. 

“I will be back tonight. Cassian will be here if you need anything.”    
  


Elain didn’t respond. 

Nesta left, confounded both by Elain’s words and how she was grateful that it was Cassian who was left alone with her tonight.  _ Perhaps, _ she mused,  _ it is because he already knows. _

* * *

Whatever Feyre and the Night Court had to say about the Hewn City and its horrors within, n one could deny the Court of Nightmares was stunningly impressive. An entire city ornately carved into the inside of a mountain, oppressive and awe-inspiring from the front gates. 

“Ready?” Feyre asked, putting her hand on Nesta’s shoulder. 

Nesta didn’t look at her baby sister, she couldn’t without turning completely red. The non-dress Amren had shown her was  _ Feyre’s  _ outfit for the Night Court. She’d seen Feyre naked many times as kids and in that damn hut, but somehow  _ this _ \- dressed in only lace and jewelry, hair and make up done up like a burlesque dance -  _ this  _ was too much to see. The only comfort was Morrigan’s similarly exposing red lace number and comment that Nesta and Amren would stick out like sore thumbs dressed as they were. It was the dress code, it was only the aesthetic sensibility of this part of the court.

“Just open the door,” Nesta responded, ready to take in the rest of this apparent Nightmare. 

The inside of the mountain was a horror, but one that you could not look away from. It was dark, lit entirely by fire and fae light. These fae lights weren’t green or blue as they were at the house, they were orange and yellow and red and white. It was as though they had inverted Velaris and shoved it into the mountain. Buildings hung down from the summit and jutted out from the walls. Countless stairs wove around the city. Where the light blended and reflected on buildings, she saw the night sky in this mountain.  _ Stunning. _

The only problem was the people. Amren hadn’t lied when she described the female dress code. Feyre and Morrigan’s outfits were run of the mill for the majority of the women she saw. Some were tulle, not lace, others were opaque but covered less. Makeup was painted on, even to the body, extenuating… everything. But the detail Nesta zeroed in on wasn’t the overt sexualization, the overuse of kohl, or the over the top teased hair. It was the necklaces- collars really. Solid metal collars around many of the women, matching rings on various male hands. Not one looked up until she was spoken to. They weren’t wives, they were ornaments. 

Chattel.

_ Disgusting _ . 

Every step Nesta felt her anger rise, and her power rose with it. When they entered the throne room to party littered with submissive wives, she felt the burning cold circulate through every vein. She half-expected Amren to tell her to calm down, but neither she nor anyone else did. It wasn’t until Rhysand and Feyre entered behind them, that Nesta understood why. 

The mountain quaked when Rhysand entered it. The lights flickered in momentary blackness. Every citizen shivered at the oppressive night he brought with him. They did not warn Nesta. They wanted her outraged, they wanted her angry. They wanted her power to stir and flare as all of theirs were. They were here to instill fear into the hearts of every citizen. Nesta, now a member of the Court to them all, needed to command her own fear and respect. 

Very well. 

Nesta channeled her mother’s scolding. She kept her chin high, her eyes cold. With every glance around the room, she tilted her head so she was looking down at everyone. If they bothered to look at her, she held their gaze until they blinked first, until they backed down. It was scary when she was human, but now with the Cauldron in her veins, it was terrifying. 

Feyre commanded the room bow, and Nesta did so without hesitation. This was an act. A game she was in on. They bowed to fool the room into thinking Feyre and Rhysand would kill them otherwise. A couple adventurous souls dared spread their power to her while her head was down, to poke and prod and goodness knows what else. They all were stopped by her impenetrable shield. 

It was not just Nesta that a few assholes were interested in molesting. A few tendrils of power reached out for Feyre, seated neatly on her husband’s throne. Feyre countered with a one-up of Nesta’s shield. She captured the tendrils, holding them down, causing their owners to wince. A man with a silver circlet and a blonde wife scowled at them for that little trick. Nesta figured that was the steward, Morrigan’s father. It didn’t pass observation how little he seemed, how meek his wife was, and how she knew Morrigan to be. There was something there.  _ There’s always something with families, isn’t there?  _

Feyre released her captives and they either fled or fainted. 

_ Well done.  _

Amren walked up to the front of the dias, and Nesta followed behind. Amren bowed momentarily before speaking, so Nesta did as well. No one from Velaris looked at one another with kindness or familiarity, so Nesta did not either. The room would know from appearances that Nesta Archeron was the sister of Feyre Archeron, but no one watching would ever guess they gave a shit about each other. 

When they turned to leave, almost no one dared look at them. They were all too afraid to look away from their rulers. The ones who found courage enough to turn away from Rhysand found Amren’s glare, empowered by her other-worldly flowing power. Nesta wasn’t certain anyone was brave enough to watch long enough to know what direction they turned after stepping out of the throne room. 

* * *

The treasure room, located deep within the mountain, wasn’t guarded. The door wasn’t locked. Amren just threw them open and motioned Nesta inside. Once in, it was apparent  _ why _ . 

There were stacks of gold and jewels in the corners and along the walls, but the pieces that mattered all were neatly displayed on stone columns in the middle of the room. They greeted the pair in unison. 

_ Hello _

_ Monster _

_ Prisoner _

_ Thief _

_ Wicked Sister _

_ Blessed _

_ Cursed _

  
  


Each one’s voice sounded different. Some sounded angry, mean, like it wanted them to leave. Others sounded sweet, saccharine, like it was trying to entice them. One was just taunting, curious what they would do. You step in this room and risk your own sanity.

“Shut up, the lot of you,” Amren called over her shoulder as she turned to face Nesta. “Magic items are chatty buggers. You learn to ignore it.” 

“How do I hear them? Through the shields?” She checked and her mental shield was up, reinforced, and stable. 

“Because they are speaking, not connecting. Magic items speak into your head, but it’s more apt to say they stand outside your mind and shout at the top of their lungs,” Amren cracked her neck. She pointed to the first item, a small ceramic pot. “Pick that up.” 

The pot shivered with excitement as Nesta got closer, its lid clattering noisily as it shouted with glee.  _ Yes! Yes! Touch me Blessed one! Use me! Oh please please please! I can make you whatever you want. But use me!  _ Nesta felt queasy as she picked it up, even more so when it  _ moaned _ at her touch. 

“What is it?” 

“Alchemical Jar, it will generate any liquid or potion. Damn, it likes you, put it down. Pick up that one.” She pointed to a small dagger. 

Nesta set down the pot and moved to the rusty dagger, quiet and still where the other one was loud and quivering. This one did not speak as she approached it, merely sending a pulse out as she moved her hand closer, repelling her back. Nesta pulled her to herself and glared at it. 

“Thank the Mother, the Lucky dagger doesn’t seem to like you. Pick it up. ” 

Nesta tried again to reach out and pick it up, this time finding that her hand was redirected at the last moment just to the left of the blade. 

“It won’t let me.” 

“It has shielded itself, but no shield is perfect. Find the weakness and you will be able to get through and pick it up. You will need to lower your own shield to feel it. Raise them again if it tries to reach back for you.” 

Nesta lowered her shield around her hand and reached out again. This time she found no resistance as her fingers brushed the hilt. Lightning coursed into her fingertips and she slipped a shield around her hand like a glove. Only a sliver of the power managed to flow into her, not enough to disrupt the well within. A well slightly depleted, thanks to constant exertion and shielding. 

But then it started shouting. 

_ OPEN. OPEN UP. LET ME IN. LET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME INLET ME IN _

Amren’s eyes widened as she stalked over. “What did you do?” 

“I don’t know. I picked it up.” It continued to shout as Amren tried to take it from Nesta’s hands, but the barrier reformed around it, latching onto Nesta’s hand.

“Who are you calling a monster?” Amren snarled as she reached out and snatched the item, ripping through the shield and setting it down. Amren rubbed her temples and pointed to the next item, a folded piece of red cloth. “That one.” 

“Why are we doing this?” Nesta asked, walking over anyway.    
  


“The Wall is a feat of magic, a spell that combined countless user’s magic to form. But it is, at its core, just a fucking big shield.” She met Nesta’s eye. “To fix it, you will need to be able to feel out the weaknesses and redistribute its power to mend them.” Amren glared down at the knife, “But we can’t teach you to find the weaknesses if all the items just  _ let you in.”  _ The knife  _ giggled _ in response. 

“Why not just try to find weaknesses in your shield?” 

“Shields from magic users are tied to the user’s concentration. They move and can be coaxed and can react. The Wall has permanent breaks - like the barriers around these items. Try again, slowly this time, try and feel the barrier, and -  _ oh fucking hell _ .” 

The second Nesta got close enough to the cloth, it came to life and jumped on to her shoulders, hanging down her back and hugging her arms. It whispered to her.  _ Hello thief, we will do wonderful things together. We will command armies and destroy gods. We will conquer worlds and rule whole planes of - _ Amren ripped the cloak off of Nesta’s shoulders before it could continue on. 

Amren was seething. Nesta wasn’t sure what she should be doing different. They tried again and again, with every item. Even the ones that cursed at Nesta, threatened to kill her or destroy her when she was shielded, kowtowed the moment she reached out to feel their barrier, opening themselves up to her power and use. A couple, like the knife, tried to take her over, controlling her as  _ their  _ weapon. But her first lesson with Amren ensured their whispers fell on deaf ears, and their magical snares found only armor beneath her skin. 

But in terms of being able to feel barriers or their weaknesses… the lesson was an utter failure. 

They trudged back up to the throne room to wait for the others to be done. As they walked, Amren began to giggle, “Do you  _ want  _ to conquer this plane? I think the trunk of missing items will help you.” Amren broke into a fit of laughter. 

Nesta joined in, “the irremovable locket really thinks it can make that happen.”

Amren laughed harder, as did Nesta, laughing all the way up to the meeting point. Stopping only when she saw the party guests in the throne room. “What the fuck  _ are  _ you,” she said softly. 

Nesta frowned, waiting for the others, wondering if she would ever forget the knife yelling to be let in, to take over. Wondering if that was what the Cauldron felt for those long centuries she plundered it. 

* * *

The war meeting somehow went both better and worse than Nesta’s lesson. They all looked miserable and depressed as they walked up. No one spoke as they grabbed one another on the shoulder and Rhysand winnowed them back to the townhouse. 

That’s when all hell broke loose. 

Morrigan immediately turned to Rhysand. “WHY?” She ran into him, shoving him back, repeating his question. 

“Eris found Azriel - our hands were tied. I made the best of it. I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice took Nesta by surprise. He seemed… genuinely sorry for whatever happened in that meeting. 

Morrigan just turned her ire to Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Azriel met her anger with cool explanation. “Because you would have tried to stop it, and we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance - and face the threat of Eris.” 

“You’re working with that prick?” Cassian jumped into this mess, siding with Mor by how he moved to her side, supporting her. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.” 

“I have to agree with Cassian, Eris is a snake.” Lucien piped up.

Nesta stayed back in the doorway, watching this drama play out. From what she gathered, Eris was Lucien’s brother, and he had somehow gotten involved with the negotiations with Keir, and that somehow pissed off Cassian and Morrigan?

“It’s not about Eris, it’s about  _ here _ ,” Morrigan’s voice shook with every word. “This is my home, and you are going to let Keir destroy it!”  _ Is he ceding part of Velaris to Keir and the Hewn City?  _

“I took precautions,” Rhysand explained. He had spoken to leaders of Velaris and got them to agree not to serve residents of the Hewn City.  _ Oh, he agreed to let them  _ **_in_ ** **.** Looking at how they reacted, Nesta was right to think there was something in that family history. Something bad. The others seemed to accept the precautions, but Morrigan couldn’t. 

“If Amaranthra were alive…” Morrigan spoke slowly, as though she couldn’t believe she was daring to say the words. “If she were alive and i offered to  _ work _ with her - even if it was to save us all - how would you feel?” 

It was a ballsy strategy, using his wife’s trauma to get him to understand her own. And from the hard look in his eyes, it was not one Rhysand appreciated. Feyre offered her hand and he took it, confirming that she was fine and alive and - 

“If Amaranthra offered us a slim shot at survival, then I would not give a  _ shit _ that she made me fuck her for all those years.” 

Nesta was completely taken aback. She had no idea. She knew he was a prisoner and unwilling ally, that he had become one to allow himself to overthrow her. But she didn’t know he was raped, let alone for years. She looked back down at where Feyre held his hand. Silent comfort and the most support he could take from her right now. 

Clare had held her hand when she needed it, too. 

But…

She looked at how Feyre was dressed, how all women in the Hewn City were expected to dress. She saw the hurt and betrayal on Morrigan’s face. She understood. Not the details, but the broad strokes of what Morrigan must have survived before leaving. She understood. If working with Tomas Mandray would save her family, Nesta wouldn’t hesitate. Hell, she was willing to marry him, knowing what he was, if it meant her sisters were fed. She still would, if it meant Hybern and the queens would fall. But that was her choice, her sacrifice to make. If Feyre or Elain or anyone brought Tomas to her home and told her to put up with him, he’s helping, it will be fine… she’d tear the house down first. No one could expect Morrigan to just be fine with this. 

And to everyone’s credit, no one did. It was a shitty situation. But Amren stepped up. Between her vows and Feyre’s pleas, Morrigan seemed to relent. She was clearly pissed, but she would cooperate. Amren settled back next to Nesta and changed the subject to a less hairy one. 

“What happened with the mirror?” Amren asked. Feyre had tried to extract a magic mirror from Morrigan’s family as part of the war negotiations. Nesta could only hope it was more useful than the shitty items she had spent the day with. 

Feyre answered, “Keir says it’s mine, if I dare take it. Apparently, what you will see inside will break you - or drive you insane. No one’s ever walked away from it.” 

Morrigan seconded the horrible reputation of her family’s relic. So it was about as useful as the locket, then. Unless they wanted to show it Hybern or something. 

“You’re talking about the Ouroboros.” Feyre’s face froze with momentary panic at that. What were they hiding from Amren? “Why do you want  _ that _ mirror?” Feyre looked 5 years old again, caught trying to hide her father’s paint smeared and utterly ruined ledger. 

“If honesty is the theme of the night,” Rhysand cut in, “because the Bone Carver requested it.”    
  


“You went to the Prison?” _ So that’s why Feyre was asking about it. _ Spending twelve hours getting prodded with Amren’s magic had attuned Nesta to it nicely. She felt the surge as it quietly enveloped her teacher. 

“Your old friends say hello,” Cassian sauntered over and leaned against the doorway in front of Nesta, forcing her to step around him to get a view of everyone. She couldn’t believe he was dumb enough to take that tone when Amren was clearly loaded to spring. 

But Amren didn’t kill her friends - yet. “Why did you go.”    
  


Everyone turned to Lucien first, waiting. He looked around the room, sighed, and excused himself. A part of Nesta was a little pleased that no one seemed inclined to suggest, silently or otherwise, that  _ she  _ leave. Not that she  _ would  _ have if they did. 

“We had some questions for the Carver, and we have some for you,” Cassian explained. 

More of Amren’s power spread out, starting to meet and mask Rhysand’s night. “You are going to unleash the Carver.”    
  


“Yes.” 

“That is impossible.”

“I’ll remind you that you, sweet Amren, escaped, and have stayed free. So it can be done. Perhaps you could tell us how you did it.” Rhysand stepped up closer to Amren, slightly in front of Feyre. Nesta could have sworn his taunting demeanor was covering a defensive stance. One look at the  _ very _ pointed expression on Cassian’s face confirmed it. He was trying to shout “get behind me” with just his eyes and a head tilt.

Nesta studied Amren again. She was only angrier, and Nesta had seen her bully magic items into submission just hours ago. They were afraid of her, they showed that much at that first dinner. If she was going to erupt… bearing the brunt of it alone might not be a good idea. Nesta stepped over to Cassian just as Amren denied the request. 

“It wasn’t a request. Feyre and Cassian spoke to the Bone Carver. He wants the Ouroboros in exchange for serving us- fighting Hybern. But we need you to explain how to get him out.” 

Amren’s scowl turned to a smile as her power lapped menacingly at Rhysand’s face. “Anything else?”

“When we’re done with all of this, then my promise from months ago still holds: use the Book to send yourself home, if you want.” 

Nesta really, really wanted to ask what  _ home  _ was. But that seemed to be a very stupid idea. She kept her mouth shut and waited. Amren pulled her power back a bit, but kept it at their ankles as she explained how she escaped hell. Amren’s form was constructed to let her sneak past the guards at the Prison. She was once something very different. Something from another world, that came here through a crack in the Wall separating their planes of existence, and ended up here. 

_ No she said it was the sky, a rip in the world. Why did… oh.  _

“What would happen if you were?”    
  


Amren looked to each person in the room as she considered answering the question. But she did. “I would not remember you. I would not care for any of you. I would either smite you or abandon you. What I feel now… it would be foriegn to me - it would hold no sway. Everything I am, this body… it would cease to be.” 

Nesta could only parrot Amren’s own question from just hours ago. “What  _ were  _ you?”

Amren toyed with her jewelry. “A messenger,” when that didn’t seem sufficient she added in the truth, “and soldier-assassin. For a wrathful god who ruled a young world.” 

“Was Amren your name?”    
  


“No,” Amren breathed out. “I do not remember the name I was given. I use Amren because- it’s a long story.” 

Nesta would have asked her to tell it, if Elain had not padded downstairs. She seemed surprised to find everyone here. Nesta realized it was because someone had put up a shield to keep sound escaping from this room. They had shielded the room and kept her in it. She shook the thought from her mind as she and Feyre approached Elain, Feyre speaking first. 

“Do you need anything?”    
  


“No. I-I was sleeping, but I heard…” Elain seemed to be still shaking the dream off, or trying to determine if she was still in one. “I didn’t hear you?” 

Azriel stepped forward, his voice gentle and his visage bright. Unusually bright. He was suppressing his shadow-magic. “But you heard something else.” 

Elain nodded, watching him, but backed up. “I think I was dreaming, I think I’m always dreaming these days.” Nesta tried to hide her heartbreak. The only comfort in Elain’s state was that she was not aware she was losing her mind. This knew state, this between-place, it was worse. Elain knew she couldn’t discern what was real and what was a dream, and yet it would do nothing to help. 

Nesta watched her sister walk up the steps, spouting madness as she went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love magic items. I love them so much. 
> 
> Nesta figured something out - we'll talk next chapter. 
> 
> The iron pin Nesta now has is based off of a real hairpin my mother has that she is not allowed to wear on planes. (this was a selling point to her) See my tumblr for a pic of the pin
> 
> Comment please. It keeps me going.  
> Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr at Saphie3243


	39. Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien and Elain have a chat, Amren and Nesta have a chat, Cassian and Nesta have a chat. Nesta and Feyre have a chat. The ravens and the sisters have a chat. Bryaxis has teeth. and a bloody chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Light (?) Gore
> 
> It's Bryaxis. ~Someone wasn't told not to look~ 
> 
> But really, if you don't like descriptions of gore, stop reading after Nesta falls down on the steps. I have no sense for trigger warnings vis a vis violence, so I figure better safe than sorry.

This was a ridiculous plan. A stupid, ridiculous plan. And of course Amren decided  _ now _ was the time to make Nesta have a lesson. They were  _ supposed _ to have it in the morning, but Amren was off being pissy. She was still pissy. 

“Focus!” Amren snapped. 

Nesta begrudgingly turned away from watching the door to the room containing Lucien and Elain. So far they hadn’t done anything besides sip tea and sit uncomfortably. The ancient healer had said it would help.  _ A bridge between the souls _ , she called it. She also said  _ nothing was wrong _ . How could nothing be wrong? Elain was gone. Even without the gibberish, she was clearly  _ not _ alright. She was melancholic and unenthused. She had sat around for two months, doing fuck all. Elain was never one to sit still. She loved people. She loved games. She never had to be led or coaxed to a garden.

What is the point of magic if it can’t fix what it broke? 

“FOCUS!” Amren's shield squeezed Nesta to bring her back to the task at hand, rattling the table to do so. Nesta huffed and recentered on the lesson. Amren wrapped her shield around Nesta’s body, not harming, not squeezing, just sitting. It was Nesta’s job to call and send a tendril of power to skitter along its sides and look for a weakness. After the debacle with the magic items, they decided that they would  _ have _ to resort to looking for shield weaknesses this way. At least until they thought of something better. 

“I’m sorry!” Lucien blurted out from the next room.  _ What?  _

“What-what was that?” Elain asked.  _ What did he do? Is Elain ok? _ Nesta needed to see her, be there. She tried to move, but Amren was holding her in place, trying to keep her down. 

“It-it was a tug. On the bond.” 

“ _ Don’t you- _ ” Amren squeezed just a bit, enough to force Nesta to get back into her seat. But Nesta just flashed a wave of her power over the shield. Like water on pavement, she found the crack and broke the shell open. “Wicked girl,” her teacher snarled. 

Nesta didn’t wait to see what else Amren had to say about her method of finding cracks. She needed to see Elain. From the doorway, she had a perfect view of Lucien on his feet now, hands half raised - reaching out in apology to Elain. Elain, who was also standing back, holding her hands to her chest, warily watching the male.

“What did you do.” 

Lucien turned his attention momentarily to Nesta, angry that she interrupted, but he swallowed whatever temper she was drawing from him. “Nothing.” Then, back to her sister, “I’m sorry... if that unsettled you.”

Elain walked backward, not quickly, but she didn’t have far to go. It wasn’t until she was tucked safely at her sister’s side that she answered. “It felt,” Elain searched for the words to describe whatever Lucien had done. Her sister placed a hand on her back. “Strange,” she decided. Not bad, not painful. Strange. Ok. Lucien can live today. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

This was a stupid plan. This was always a stupid plan. She shouldn’t have let them go through with it. Elain didn’t need some random asshole playing around in her head, tugging on  _ mating bonds _ or whatever the fuck he pulled on. It was cruel, too, was it not? Pulling on the chain that now bonded Elain to someone else, reminding her again that Graysen isn’t it anymore. It was mean, stupid, and worst of all… useless. 

Elain looked up at Nesta, speaking to her directly as she spouted her nonsense. “Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.” 

Nesta hid her anger toward one sister and her stupid fucking plan to speak to the other, gently stroking her cheek. “What can I get you, Elain?” 

Elain was already lucid again, shaking off her waking dream as she answered. “Sunshine.” 

Nesta nodded and led Elain out to the garden, holding both her side and hand. 

When they stepped into the sunshine, Elain turned her face to the sky, letting the warmth rain down over her. She took a breath, taking in the smell of dirt and greenery. Nesta moved to let go of Elain’s hand and was met with a weak, but tight, grip. All the strength Elain could muster in her current malnourished state. 

“I was supposed to be married today.” 

“Yes. You were.” 

“I grew sweet peas.” 

“For the bouquet, yes. And sunflowers for the hall.” 

Elain closed her eyes and took another breath. “There are too many vines. Too many flowers I didn’t plant. I don’t remember which ones are mine. They even cut your trees.” She turned to Nesta, her pupils wide and unfocused. “I didn’t see the lilies. I didn’t want to see the rocks.” Elain blinked and registered something behind Nesta. “Rosemary.” 

“What?” Nesta turned behind her. On the ground was a tray of potted herbs, including rosemary. 

“Sage needs more space,” Elain muttered. “It’s ready to be transported. The cilantro should have been planted directly.” 

“You can plant them,” Feyre said from the doorway - walking over to a tool box and pulling out gloves and a spade. “The garden is yours, if you want it.” She held them out. 

Elain smiled. Not her large, silly, optimistic smiles, but a tentative one. She accepted the tools.    
  


* * *

Amren was  _ not _ pleased about Nesta’s little leave of absence. She didn’t ask if Elain was alright. She didn’t offer any words of comfort. She just snarked at Nesta as she took her seat at the dining room table once again.

“Are you ready to focus on the lesson now?” 

Nesta tightened her gaze. “Are you expecting an apology?” 

“I’m  _ expecting _ a sense of urgency, girl. It’s not my people that need a Wall.” 

“Your people have their own Wall,” Nesta countered, looking away dismissively. She blinked. Amren blinked. 

“What did you say?” It was not anger, but confusion. 

Nesta looked down, shaking her head and trying to figure out  _ why _ she said that. “I-I don’t-” 

“My people have their own Wall?” Amren asked. 

“...When you said there was a tear in the sky. I knew… somehow…” Nesta looked up at Amren. “It was a tear in a Wall.” 

Amren leaned forward rubbing her chin, mulling over the thought. “The fae lands are vastly different than the human lands, aren’t they?” The question wasn’t really directed at anyone in particular. “Very different.” Amren lifted her hand and caught the book that appeared there. Nesta caught a glimpse of the title, Observations and Travels Among Humans: Surviving with Limited Magic. “Even the magic that should flow on the wind doesn’t flow freely through the Wall, does it?” 

“The cloak, it mentioned planes of existence. That’s… what the Wall does. It doesn’t just separate us, it created separate planes.” 

The words  _ felt _ right as Nesta said them, even if she barely understood what they meant. The Wall had held her and shown her Prythian without Prythian seeing her. It didn’t feel like a shield, like hers or Amren’s or Cassian’s or anyone’s. It threw off too much will. It wanted to be crossed and wanted to be left alone. She had thought it was created by Gods when she first saw it - but it was only created by the Treaty, right? Why did that seem so insufficient?

“How was the Wall made?” Nesta asked. 

Amren rested her chin on her hands and answered. “It was a spell of sorts, woven into the Treaty, cast when the High Lords signed it.” 

Nesta stared into the smoke-filled haze of Amren’s eyes and began a recitation from the very dregs of her memory. “On this day, the 12th night of the 55th moon of the 150th century of Prythian, we do recognize the sovereignty of humanity. All Fae cede claims to any lands below the 52nd North Parallel, marked henceforth by a Wall, as well as any human souls still in captivity. Humans will not hinder the realms, rules, or power of the Fae. The Fae will not bring harm to any human below the 52nd North Parallel.” She crossed her arms. “What part of that sounds like a spell to you?” 

“You memorized the treaty?” Amren asked. 

“Elain and Feyre probably could recite it, too. It’s the first thing we learn to read. Where’s the spell? Maybe we can just recast it.” 

Amren tightened her gaze for a moment, but she answered. 

“It’s not a spell in the traditional sense. It’s a bargain - between all of the Fae and all of Humanity. Bargains between fae are binding and unbreakable, whether you know the details or not. That’s why Hybern needs the Cauldron to take it down. There is simply nothing else that  _ could  _ take it down.” 

Nesta scowled. “If that’s the case, then how come Amaranthra and her cronies could hunt below the Wall?”

Amren started rubbing her temples. “I don’t know. Perhaps Hybern never signed it, so it doesn’t bind his people. Perhaps he found a way to break it without dying. Perhaps that’s why it took him 500 years to strike again.” She stopped and again levelled a look at Nesta. “Either way, we don’t know enough. We need to learn more about the Wall and the Treaty, probably the Cauldron, too. That will be your next assignment.” 

“Just me?” 

“We will help pull what we can but… I’ve seen the Wall many, many times in its 500 years. I’ve crossed it before. And it wasn’t until you said something that I realized I had crossed one 15,000 years ago. From the look on your face, you don’t even know why you knew they were the same, let alone what a plane of existence truly is. I think there is something in you, girl. You will know what we need when you see it.” 

Amren swiped her arm over the table. A dozen books came crashing down, creating enough noise to pierce through Amren’s shield and alarm the group discussing meeting locations in the next room. The three of them came rushing in, asking what was the matter, all eyeing the smattering of musty textbooks. 

“We will be doing research now.” Amren said to them as Nesta reached for the first book. 

* * *

None of the books Amren conjured were helpful. 

To start with, none of them even accurately described the Wall. Or the Cauldron. Amren had once called the breaches stationary, something most of the textbooks parroted. But they weren’t. The Wall could move them. Had moved one to taunt her once. They did agree that the Wall had a will, like a magic item, but none of the Fae who wrote the books could touch the Wall, only pass in the breaches they claimed didn’t move. Not enough. They don’t understand enough. 

Nesta stayed at the table with Amren watching her most of the day. Feyre and Morrigan also pitched in, pulling all the books that they could think of. None of these had what she needed either. They only stopped when Nuala began to hover holding plates to set the table for dinner. Morrigan and Lucien were already standing in the doorway, waiting and hungry. Feyre was upstairs changing out of dusty clothes.

  
“I’ll keep reading these tonight if you send them to my room,” Nesta offered, stretching as she got up from the table. She had gotten through a third of the stack that afternoon. There was more to go. 

Amren waved her hand and the books went away. “They are on the floor by your bed. Feyre volunteered to take you to the library if none of those suffice. 

“It will take a day to go through everything everyone pulled, but probably good to plan on it, anyway based on how well the first third went.” Then, turning to the door, “I’m going to go fetch Elain, get her cleaned up before dinner.” 

“She’s already upstairs. Azriel brought her in 20 min ago.” 

“He’s upstairs?” And here she thought  _ that one _ knew boundaries. 

“No he’s behind you.” Nesta whirred to find Azriel skulking in the corner of the room. He gave her a little wave. And she was visibly relieved after the initial surprise of his presence. 

“How was she?” 

“She transported all of the herbs except the cilantro. Didn’t wear gloves though. So her hands might be a little roughed up.” 

Nesta nodded. That didn’t surprise her in the least. Elain only wore gloves when she had to. She liked to feel the dirt when she worked. If she spent all day out with plants, that was good. That had to be good.

“I’m surprised you want to keep reading those tonight, they aren’t exactly fun reads,” Morrigan commented from the doorway.

Nesta responded with a shrug, “No more or less dense than the human books I used to read.” She smiled, “Our tutor got fired when I was 9, so most of my education was through independent reading.” 

“How old was Feyre?” Lucien asked. Nesta turned to him, answering without really thinking about who asked it.

“If I was 9… she would have been 5 or 6.” 

“So that’s why she couldn’t read,” he said as though something finally clicked. “Though she seems to have gotten the hang of it now.” 

“What are you talking about?” Nesta murmured, staring at him as though he had just mentioned spouting a third head. Neither he nor Morrigan seemed to notice her response, as Morrigan just turned to Lucien and added in her own comment.

“Yeah, it’s hard to believe she couldn’t even read the clue this time last year.” 

“What are you talking about?” Nesta said, louder this time. They stopped and turned to her. It was Amren who explained. 

“Rhysand taught Feyre to read last winter.” 

> _ “And who exactly, is going to teach those daughters, now? You?”  _
> 
> _ “Maybe,” her mother had answered.  _

Not yes, not definitely. Maybe. And then she hadn’t. And she didn’t hire another tutor. She just instructed them on how to behave between drinks. Nesta loved it. She got to read whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It… never occurred to her that Feyre…

“I take it from your face you didn’t know?”

Nesta ignored Amren’s question. She couldn’t look at Feyre when her little sister entered the dining room, changed and excited for everyone to have dinner at home. She smiled and told Nesta that Elain was still in her room. She’d be happy to help her get ready but figured the eldest would want to talk to her first. Nesta nodded absentmindedly and wandered upstairs, trying to remember if she had ever seen Feyre with a book. 

* * *

Whatever training Feyre was up to while Nesta was researching seemed to be kicking her ass. Nesta had spent the past two nights reading non-stop, expecting to be able to sleep after breakfast while Feyre trained. Then Feyre wandered down at 7am, not dawn, And she sat down at the table, instead of grabbing a muffin and heading out the door. Feyre was not planning on training today, she was going to take the day and let her body heal. She was free to take Nesta to the library immediately after breakfast. 

_ Great _ . Catching up on sleep was something losers did anyway. 

Nesta was pondering the merits of chewing tea leaves directly so as not to dilute their effects when Cassian’s obscenely large bicep brushed her ear. He didn’t have to reach directly over her shoulder to get the muffin. Just like he didn’t  _ need _ to chew the damn thing in her ear. But he’s an ass and did so anyway. 

“Morning Nesta. Elain.” 

Nesta was ready to tell him to close his goddamn mouth when Elain said, “He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” And like that, the chewing in her ear was replaced with the sound of his screams, the sloshing was the geyser of blood, and a pain that came from somewhere deep inside. 

But a large hand settled on her shoulder. “It’ll take more than that to kill me.” 

“No, it will not.” Elain said it so definitively Nesta blinked. She didn’t need to look up to know that little comment had shaken Cassian as well, his grip on her shoulder tightened just before he let go. Right as Feyre came over to Elain and would have been able to see it. 

“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” 

“I can help her,” Azriel offered, stepping up to Elain with his hand extended. Nesta watched him. He had been spending quite a bit of time with Elain recently. Always volunteering to sit with her or help her go places. Quiet and polite, expression gentle and neutral. She kept trying to sniff out if there was any romanticism there, any silent longing in his eyes. But if any such emotion existed within him, Azriel had stamped it down so thoroughly there wasn’t even a ghost of it on his face. 

Cassian returned to smacking his lips obnoxiously. Nesta glared up at him, catching his sly smile as he sucked the crumbs off of every finger. The last time she saw that smile, she was on a roof with a far more engaging book than the dusty old tomes stacked in her bedroom. She should roll her eyes and ignore him, pointedly reject this… whatever-this-is. But she didn’t. She just watched, enjoying the way the muscles in his jaw flexed around every digit, surprisingly perfectly at peace with the knowledge that that sight would make an appearance in her next wet dream. A dilemma for a well-rested Nesta.

And then Cassian had to kill the mood by deciding to speak. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”    
  


“Don’t call me that.” 

Bad call. 

Cassian’s eyes lit up. His smile extended from ear to ear. Feyre disappeared, and they were alone. He took that opportunity to lean down over her, one arm on the back of her chair, one on the table. In his deepest, softest voice, “Why haven’t you been sleeping again, _Nesss_?” 

“None of your business and don’t call me that.” 

“Thinking of me then? Do you need another massage, _Nes_?” He was going to call her Nes every chance he got from now until the end of time. Defense was never fun with him, so...

Nesta smiled up at him, matching the quiet bedroom-tone. “Do you feel especially interested in giving one, _Cass_?” 

She heard his breath hitch when she said his name. Feyre had already left, Azriel was out back with Elain. They were alone. If he was going to  _ do _ something in return, now was the time. But he stood up straight. 

“Feyre will be waiting.” He backed up from her and leaned against the table. Nesta, oddly put out, walked to the front door without turning around, missing the moment Cassian took to calm himself and his red face. 

He met her at the front door and scooped her up with no fuss, looking straight ahead and barely at her. “Hold onto my neck.” 

Nesta tentatively did so, requesting in an unusually small voice for her, “No flying upside down, please.” 

“Mother’s tits, Rhys,” she heard him swear under his breath as he took off into the sky. 

Flying with Cassian was nothing at all like flying with Rhysand. The flight was smooth, leisurely even. She could see Velaris move below them, see the river flow all the way to the sea, see the mountains in the distance. It was what she imagined flying would be. She leaned her head back on Cassian’s shoulder without thinking about it, just enjoying the view. 

The moment she did, she felt his grip tighten on her side and she whipped her head back up hoping he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t, but only because they were already back at the House of Wind. He sat her down and Nesta immediately walked in, hoping if she moved fast enough, Feyre would think her blush was from the wind. 

* * *

_ Heaven does exist. _

Nesta thought- when they said they were going to search the library at the House- that they were going to look in the library she had been in before. Feyre informed her that the was just the  _ family _ library. The real library, the official one, was another floor down, and it took up the rest of the mountain the House perched on. 

She was going to cry. There were too many books to count. Too many to read even in a Fae’s lifetime. The shelves jutted out from the walls, ending at a spiral staircase. The staircase… didn’t stop. It just went down and down and down until it was too dark to see anything. 

Feyre was either already used to this place or didn’t understand awe as she ferried Nesta along to a floor some 26 stories down. There was already a reading station set up for them, complete with tea and notebooks. Nesta started looking over the books that were pulled prior to their arrival. 

“How do you know what to look for in regard to the Wall?” 

_ Because the first time I touched the Wall it gave me something and told me we were the same.  _

_ Because I was shoved into the Cauldron and spent countless years pillaging all the power I could from it so you could say I'm "special."  _

_ Because magic is bullshit and I’m the lucky fucker who has a connection to this particular thing.  _

“Because I just do.” It was as good an answer as any. Nesta flipped open the books and skimmed the first few chapters. Not the right topics, not the right descriptions. She closed each and pushed it away. Feyre offered to show her to some other stacks a couple of levels down. 

The lights flicked on as they walked, some a couple levels up turning off, keeping only where they were as a pocket of light in unending dark. It was an eerie place, despite the number of books. Nesta was grateful that the section they needed was further from the center of the mountain, away from the bottomless pit that pulsed whenever you looked at it.  __

Nesta glanced at the titles as she went, noting certain keywords to figure out if they had reached the section they needed yet. Feyre tried to read the titles as well, quietly sounding out one title for every three Nesta skimmed. She  _ had _ just learned to read, then, and was still at a rudimentary level. 

“I didn’t know you couldn’t really read. I didn’t know where you were in your lessons when I - when it all happened. I assumed you could read as easily as me.” Nesta wasn’t entirely sure when she started reading, but looking back, she did remember Madame Cartright making a fuss over how young she was. She had always thought that Cartright was stupid and that was just when everyone started reading. It didn’t occur to her that Feyre wouldn’t be the same. 

“Well I couldn’t.” 

“Why didn’t you ask us to teach you?” Any of them. Hell, even their father would have been been happy to. Reading along with to his voice on his lap was probably Elain’s earliest memory, too. 

“Because I doubted you would agree to help.” Being slapped would have hurt less. Nesta never realized how broken the family was, how broken she was to Feyre. She always thought Feyre was too young to remember the worst of it, but she was too young to remember the good, either. 

She picked up a book and pretended to care about the contents. “Amren said Rhysand taught you to read.” 

“He did,” Feyre took a breath. As though she was trying to find the courage to speak. “Why do you push everyone away but Elain?” That was the question she said, but not the question she asked. Nesta heard it loud and clear. “Why do you push  _ me  _ away?”

Nesta closed her eyes, trying to determine what the best answer was. She wanted to say “I don’t,” but that was a lie, and she knew it. 

_ Because mother taught me to be cold, not warm, and Elain remembers her so she understands.  _ An excuse. 

_ Because Elain is weak and you are strong and you don’t need me.  _ Not a lie, but also not fair to Elain. 

_ Because you were never poisoned by Lady Archeron and her stifling rules.  _ So close. 

_ Because you could do everything I couldn’t like it was nothing.  _ Yes. 

_ Because mom told you to take care of us and told me to be a lady.  _ But it’s simpler than that, isn’t it?

“Because-” 

A dark power spread out and tried to lightly suffocate them. Nesta popped her shield up before the power could do anything. Feyre reached for her knife, waiting- watching as the lights near them began to go out one by one. 

“What is that?” 

“Run.” Feyre left no time to argue. She held onto Nesta’s elbow with a bruising grip and sprinted away, dragging her sister with her. Nesta tried to use her free hand to gather up her skirts to keep her ankles free from obstruction, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slowing Feyre down. A feeling that was confirmed with Feyre barked out “Faster!”. But there was no faster. Not for Nesta. Not when she hadn’t slept in two days, hadn’t exercised in months, and hadn’t run in over a year. Not since the last time her life was in danger. 

A wall was suddenly in front of them. Two fae - one black, one white- stepped out from the darkness behind them The coat of arms on their jerkins was unmistakable. She had seen it hanging in the hall just behind that bastard’s throne. 

_ Hybern.  _

Blue dust irritated her eyes, traveled down her throat. It disintegrated her shield as soon as it came in contact with it. She tried, again and again to reform it. Nothing. Not a damn thing.  _ Stall. Keep trying, Amren taught you this. You can do it.  _

“Who are you?” 

“We’re the king’s Ravens. His far-flying wings and talons. And we’ve come to take you back.” 

Nesta kept trying. If she could just reform her shield, she and Feyre could get out of here, get help. It’s what she and Amren had been working on, a way to not end up like the dead librarian laying face-down on the cold floor. She just needed to call that power. Dammit, this is  _ why  _ she stole what she could, wasn’t it? Why can't she use it?  _ Dammit. Dammit Dammit _ . 

_ Why are you trying to create a shield, child of destruction?  _

“You’re not taking her anywhere.”    
  


“You’re an unexpected prize, too. But your sister…” It smiled at her. “You took something from the Cauldron, girl. And the king wants it back.” 

_ Give it to them. Show them what you stole. Show them why they should fear you. _

“If the king wants what I took, he can come get it himself.”  _ I’d be  _ **_happy_ ** _ to give him a taste of what I stole.  _

“He’s too busy to bother,” the white one said, stepping forward. 

“Apparently you’re not,” Nesta just needed to open that well, just a bit, just unleash it. It wants to obliterate. Why not let it-

Feyre’s fingers touched Nesta’s hand and she sealed up her power in an instant. Before it had a chance to lash out at her sister. She looked at Feyre. Fuck. Feyre. Nesta had never unleashed without indiscriminately killing everything around her. She couldn't risk it now. Not when Feyre was saying _t_ _ rust me _ with her eyes. 

Nesta nodded. 

“You made a grave mistake coming here, to my house. And I hope it rips you to bloody ribbons.”  Feyre pulled Nesta to their left - dragging her down into the darkness of the library.

* * *

Feyre did not let Nesta stop. Not for a second. Not when the Ravens taunted her about the Cauldron, or what happened to the only queen who went in. _Immortal, but a hag._ If Nesta weren’t running for her life, she’d laugh with glee. _Fuck that bitch._ They laughed when they talked about Hybern’s mastery of spells, the very same ones he gave to Amarantha to throw Prythian into chaos. Feyre just ran them through the library, turning so many different ways deeper and deeper into that impossible dark Nesta had no way of knowing where they were. She could only trust that Feyre did. 

And then… light. Not close, very very far away. But it was directly up. They had made it to the center stairs, a direct path. The Illyrians - Cassian - could fly straight to them. Nesta felt a glimmer of hope for an instant until Feyre said. 

“I’ll hold them off.”    
  


“No.” 

“Run, please.” Feyre begged. 

_ No. I can’t. I can’t leave you.  _

_ “Please.” _ Her voice broke with her desperate plea. Feyre wasn’t going to run, no matter what Nesta did. She was going to stay and fight for a chance for Nesta to get out. If that's the case, then Nesta better fucking get out and get help. 

With single squeeze on Feyre’s hand, Nesta hiked up her skirts and took off, running up and up and up. Trying to ignore the clamor below her. The cool air were knives down her throat, her legs already burned, but she kept running. Calling out for help with every exhale. 

“CASSIAN! AMREN! RHYSAND! AZRIEL! MORRIGAN! FUCK! LUCIEN! ANYONE!” 

_ Anyone? Do you mean that?  _

Darkness surrounded Nesta, halting her steps. She swallowed as claws gently scraped along her throat and the abyss opened up to smile at her with countless rows of teeth. 

_ I felt you up there, child of destruction. Why not do it yourself?  _

Between breaths, Nesta managed to pipe out an answer, “I’ll kill her.” This… thing laughed, breathing something rancid on her and ran a claw down her cheek.

_ Mmm...should I go, then?  _

“I don’t…” It held on to the back of her head, making soothing strokes through her hair. 

_ Who  _ **_don’t_ ** _ you want to kill, child?  _

“F-feyre. My sister. The High Lady.” 

_ Hurry now child, before your mates spoil my fun.  _

The monster pushed her up. As she took a step to catch herself, her foot caught on her dress and she went down. She shot her hands out before her head met stone. Pain shot up through her wrists, but she managed to avoid a concussion or bloody nose. She huffed a breath and then the _screaming_ started. She turned her head towards it. Feyre was standing there, maybe 50 ft down, covering her eyes tight. Nesta wished she had done the same. The monster was devouring the Ravens. Not entirely, though. It encircled them, using claws to scratch away the flesh as it writhed. Nesta watched the white one’s face tear clean from its skull -still screaming- before she found the strength to look away. She pushed off her hands and once again gathered her skirt, managing to take all of two steps before spotting Cassian barreling down. 

_ Thank goodness.  _ Nesta didn’t know she was capable of the sound she made when launched herself towards him. He held out his hands to her, still coming at such a speed and such an angle that he cracked the stairs where he landed. He didn’t pause though, getting up immediately to run for her. He was going to scoop her up and fly out, just as he had this morning. She couldn’t let him. 

As soon as he was in reach she grasped his arm and held him in place with all her strength. There was not much, not compared to Feyre and her court, but it was enough for Cassian to put the brakes on. “Feyre!” she called into his gorgeous face, pointing behind her. “Hybern!” 

Cassian met her eye with wary resolve. He nodded, squeezed her arm back and took off for Feyre. Not two seconds later, Rhysand shot down behind him. Nesta watching them fly down into that mess. There was so much blood it looked like red rain had poured onto Feyre. Bones were crushed and exposed. The ravens were unrecognizable, just screaming sacks of limp meat. But they were screaming. 

_ By the mother, they are still alive.  _

Nesta watched with no breath. She couldn’t look away. She had sent that thing to them. She had felt  _ safe _ in its arms for those moments. She thought she had done something good. And she  _ had _ . She had sent her sister help.

The screams stopped as Cassian picked up Feyre and flew up, leaving Rhysand behind to talk to that monster. Nesta couldn’t stop staring at the mangled bodies, even as Cassian stopped in front of her and picked her up. She just watched over his shoulder as Rhysand took over for the monster, gripping what was their skulls with his bare hands. 

She watched until they were out of view, she listened long after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Woooo lore!  
> 2\. Nesta was going to say "Because I'm jealous"  
> 3\. lol nesta thinks she weak.  
> 4\. Nesta does not what faebane is and what it does. She does not know if it would stop her cauldron/death power.  
> 5\. Nesta, Goddess of Death, Child of Destruction, and Queen of the Abominations is a fic I will write, eventually. (That is to say, I like Bryaxis)  
> 6\. Finally brought around Feyre's illiteracy. It is actually Nesta's fault, though she can't really be blamed for it. (cleaned that up from Cannon because 11-year olds can read, Sarah)  
> 7\. "Wow Saphie, you're new updates are longer on average than your old updates," I hear you comment. "They also cover more plot points, I'm not sure about that pacing."   
> "Yes. you see. I don't want to expand the number of chapters again. 50 seems like such a good number and Nesta really is a big deal in this book so Ican't skip whole bundles of chapters anymore."


	40. Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain is better now. Nesta is grumpy when she's tired.

Feyre dropped her feet to the ground as soon as they were safe in the family library and Cassian let her stand on her own. He didn’t try to test the strength left in Nesta’s legs. Without question or comment, he walked over to her favorite alcove and set her down in the plush armchair beneath the window. Nesta was still staring blankly, not at him or Feyre or anything she could currently see. She was still seeing living corpses and their agony as that monster in the library tore them to pieces. 

The brandy just appeared in front of her. She hadn’t heard Cassian pour it, nor did she hear him walk over with it. He had poured them triple the standard serving. She downed it in one, relishing how it burned its way down. A sweet burn. She needed another glass. She needed 5 more glasses. Hell, she needed the bottle. Maybe if she downed the whole bottle she’d get so drunk she wouldn’t live with the memory of yet another set of screams.

Rhysand had entered the library at… some point. He must be done then- with his part. His hands were still red, so red. They blended in with Feyre’s sweater, she had been sprayed. Did they not notice the blood? Did they not care? Were they used to it now? 

“Hybern hunts you because of what you took from the Cauldron. The queens want you dead for vengeance - for robbing them of their immortality.” 

“I know.” Her voice sounded strange, wrong in her ears. That wasn’t what she sounded like. Her voice is usually so much stronger than that. Why does her throat hurt so much? 

“What did you take?” 

“I don’t know.”  _ Whatever I could swallow down. I don’t want to talk. I need a drink. “ _ Not even Amren can figure it out.”  _ So stop asking. I don’t know. I just took it. _

Rhysand was staring, hard. Some of his night brushed along her skirts in question. He was asking to be let in, to see what she saw, to learn without Nesta having to say. She looked up to Feyre, to see if she knew what Rhysand was asking, to see if she should. But Feyre was just sitting there, watching, covered in blood. So much blood. And purple bruises beneath the red. Because she fought the ravens alone. Because Nesta left her alone, again. Because- 

“You told me to run.”  _ Why?  _   
  


Feyre’s reasoning was simple. “You’re my sister.” _ Sister. Oh no.  _

“Elain-” 

“Elain is fine,” Rhysand cut in. “Azriel was at the townhouse. Lucien is headed back and Mor is nearly there. They know of the threat.” 

_ Thank goodness. _ Nesta let herself sink back into the chair. She was so tired. Her sisters were alive and ok. She didn’t need to be here anymore. She could just relax in the chair and let the others discuss the many implications of Hybern attacking their home.

She watched them talk, wondering if Feyre was going to ask to go clean up. If Rhysand was going to wipe the blood from his hands.  _ They really found each other, huh? _ She used to have to scold Feyre into bathing when she came back from her hunts covered in mud and entrails, smelling to high heaven. Should she do it again now?  _ You smell like nightmares, go take a fucking bath. _ No. That would require speaking. She wasn’t doing that right now. She was just sitting here, trying not to associate the cushion pressing into her back with the delicate grasp of that  _ thing. _

Rhysand and Feyre never saw it. The monster. How lucky. It warned them, told them to close their eyes. It didn’t tell Nesta that. It just wrapped itself around her. Like it did those Ravens. 

Nesta shuddered at the thought, at how easily it could have killed her. She didn’t even think to run from those teeth. She trusted it- sent it to her sister. 

First Amren, and now that thing.

When did she start trusting monsters?

More amber liquid filled her glass. 

She drained it just as quickly as the first. 

* * *

Cassian flew Nesta back down to the townhouse after the initial reprieve in the family library. She held onto his neck, not caring at all about the appearances or the games they played. She just wanted to hold on and fall asleep while he flew her home to Elain and Graysen and Jenny and… 

The second glass or brandy was a bad idea, then. 

Nesta leaned her head into his shoulder, opening her eyes to watch his hair fly behind him, hoping the wind would carry away both the nausea and the memories. 

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Cassian’s voice resounded in his chest. From the tone of his voice, from the way he went white in the library, he did, too. 

“Does Amren look like that?”  _ a stupid question _

“Mother I hope not.” Nesta couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was tired. Her stomach churned, her throat didn’t hurt anymore but she still didn’t particularly feel like speaking. She wouldn’t be able to speak right now without saying too much. Cassian spoke again. “I’m sorry you saw that. It… the first time I saw it, I knew it was the worst thing I’d ever see.” 

Nesta looked ahead to the house. They were almost there. 

“Azalea strung up your warriors in my windows. It had impaled them with its vines and suspended them in the air,” Nesta could still see the dried blood from where it splattered and pooled on the window sills. “I thought that would be the worst thing I’d ever see.” They landed at the front gate and Cassian set her down, but didn’t quite let go. Nesta looked up at him, holding his gaze. “It’s not even in the top three.” 

* * *

Elain was fine. She was nestled on the couch, resting her head on Morrigan’s shoulder. Morrigan was holding her hand as well, though she kept a nervous eye on the door. How they got in that position, Nesta had no idea. But Elain seemed fine, for now. Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian stayed at the entrance to the sitting room, possibly to not track in all the filth still clinging to them. But Nesta just strode into the room, taking her seat next to Elain. 

Nesta placed one hand one Elain’s free hand and gripped it. She wouldn’t make her move until she had to, but she wanted to be ready to take her out of there if the conversation got to be too much. Morrigan caught her eye and nodded slightly. 

No need to retraumatize another Archeron sister today. 

Rhysand started the meeting as soon as he summoned Azriel down from the roof. 

“We can’t risk this getting out before the meeting in ten days. So for all appearances, we will remain unruffled as we prepare for war.” 

Morrigan was visibly deflated and… still angry at Rhysand, from the looks of it. “A war where we have no allies beyond Keir, either in Prythian or beyond it.” Nesta turned to see Rhysand glaring back, not happy to have his decisions continuously thrown in his face, and missed Elain picking up her head suddenly. 

“The queen might come.” 

Elain continued to stare into the fire as Nesta asked, “What queen?” 

“The one who was cursed,” she answered, no hesitation or question in her voice. 

“Cursed by the Cauldron,” Feyre offered, “when it threw its tantrum after you… left.” 

“No.” Elain said it so firmly both sisters looked at each other than her. “Not that one,” she corrected Feyre and turned to Nesta. “The other.” 

Nesta was too tired for this. It was time to go. Let the others speak, she and Elain could rest upstairs. She took a breath when Azriel stepped forward and asked his question. 

“What other?” 

“The queen, with the feathers of flame.” 

Azriel angled his head, never looking away from Elain. He… he knew something. Nesta watched him watch Elain, piecing together the puzzle Nesta never thought to solve.

Lucien, still standing in the window asked, “Should we- does she need-” 

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel didn’t take his eyes off of Elain as he dismissed Lucien. The shadows he had been careful to suppress around her sister slithered up his neck and curled around his ear. “We’re the ones who need… a seer.” 

> _ Three children all got a candy from an old lady on a dock. The youngest got hers first, she earned it, helping the crone find her missing purse. The middle one got hers second, she was gifted it for being so sweet. The eldest had to demand hers, take it by force.  _

With perfect confidence, he stated his answer more clearly. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” 

The words seemed to lift the cloud that blurred Elain’s vision, blinking, she turned to Morrigan. “Is  _ that  _ what this is?” 

And like that, Elain was back. 

“There is another queen?” 

Elain cocked her head, mouth slightly open, eyes almost closed. Her thinking face, Nesta realized. The face she made when she played out moves in her chess matches, the face she made before she kicked her opponent’s ass in under 10 turns. 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“The sixth queen, the queen who the golden one said wasn’t ill…” Morrigan realized. 

“She said not to trust the other queens because of it,” Feyre added. She turned to Nesta. “You stole from the Cauldron. But what if the Cauldron  _ gave _ something to Elain?” 

“What?” Nesta didn’t know if she was relieved that Elain was ok, worried about what it meant for her to get a gift from the Cauldron, or deeply, deeply ashamed that she didn’t realize what was happening.

Azriel explained his logic. “You knew about the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain made a face, confused, and then, nodded.  _ I saw young hands wither with age. _ She had said it just days ago. Nesta just dismissed it as gibberish. “The sixth queen is alive?”    
  


Elain thought about it again. “Yes.” 

“What sort of curse?” 

“They sold her to… to some darkness, to some… sorcerer-lord…” she closed her eyes and focused before shaking off whatever entered her mind’s eye. “I can never see him. What he is. There is an onyx box he possesses, more vital than anything… save for them. The girls.” She squeezed Nesta’s hand. “He keeps other girls- others so like her- but she… By day, she is one form, by night, human again.”    
  


“A bird of burning feathers.” 

“Firebird by day…woman by night,” Rhysand stroked his chin, “So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?” 

“I don’t know. I hear her-her screaming. With rage, utter rage.” 

“Do you know why the other queens cursed her-sold her to him?” 

“No. No, that is all mist and shadow.” 

“Can you sense where she is?” 

“There is… a lake. Deep... in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst mountains and ancient forests. He keeps them all at the lake.” 

“Other women like her?” 

  
“Yes… and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water while she rages through the skies above it.” 

From this information, the argument over finding the Queen Vassa of Scythia began. They no longer needed Elain’s input, as they were too busy arguing over whether they could spare the forces. Elain turned to Nesta while the others argued, gripping her hand tighter than ever. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“It showed me... everything. Things I didn’t think were real. Things I didn’t want to be real,” the grip became crushing. “But it’s all real. It’s  _ all  _ real.” 

Nesta squeezed her hand in return. “I’m here. It will be ok.” 

Elain nodded and turned back to the discussion over Queen Vassa, but didn’t loosen her grip one bit. They had more to talk about, certainly, but that could be later, when they were alone and could really talk. 

Morrigan proposed probably the most salient argument to spending time finding Vassa. “ _ Why _ is she hearing this queen? It must be vital. If we ignore it, perhaps we’ll deserve to fail.” She practically spat the last sentence out. There was an edge to her these past few days. She was near a breaking point - they all were. She wasn’t wrong but- but Nesta couldn’t help thinking that she wanted to find the Queen because she wanted to leave. 

“I’ll go.” No one expected Lucien to offer his services. In all honesty, Nesta had all but forgotten he was even in the room. “I’ll go to find this sixth queen.” 

“What makes you think you could find her?” 

“This eye, “ he gestured to the silver thing on his face. “It can see things that others… can’t. Spells, glamours,” he shrugged. “Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” 

Nesta turned away from watching him, back to Elain. She hadn’t released the vice-grip on her sister’s hand, and was now studying it intensely, almost sweating. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but… I do not belong in the Autumn Court. I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at ho-the Spring Court. But I cannot sit here and do  _ nothing. _ Those queens with their armies- there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can be of help.” 

It was both the most words she’d ever heard him string together at once and a solid plan. He was the definition of expendable. But the way he spoke, what Feyre had shown her in his head, dammit if she didn’t feel the same. She didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien, Elain, and Nesta were all birds of a feather. Homeless, aimless, and missing their first loves. She studied Elain’s face to see if she had any opinion on the matter. Elain let go of her sister, as though physical touch would let Nesta peer inside that beautiful mind of hers. She switched to picking at the sofa, hoping that no one would expect her to speak if she didn’t look up. 

“When do you want to leave?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Elain made an involuntary, indistinguishable little noise. She absolutely had an opinion. 

Silence surrounded them for a moment, then Rhysand dismissed Azriel, then Morrigan and Cassian. Rhysand and Feyre made pointed looks at Nesta and jerked their heads up to the stairs. In case she missed the meaning, they added in some additional comments about needing to  _ clean up. _

She followed them up, trailing the way to their bedroom. Without so much as a good bye they shut the door behind them. Nesta considered for a moment. She could go into her room, change, bathe, and sleep. 

Or-

She could go into her room. Open the window, stick her head out, and listen. 

The plan was almost perfect. One flaw - there was only so much sound that would carry through the closed back doors. And easy fix, though. Nesta leaned more of her body out of the window to get a good view of the door knob and conjured a shield around it. Some finangling, and she was able to pop it open. 

It was only as she was leaning back so a non-dangerous amount of her was hanging out of the window that she noticed the figure encased in black that had taken position on the roof above her. She turned her head up to find Azriel looking down at her. His expression was inscrutable, but he didn’t say anything. He only nodded very slowly to her and turned away. As if he was silently consenting to being her accomplice. 

It was faint, but if they focused, they could hear what was being said. 

“I… I’m sorry that we did not get the chance to speak before now.” 

Nothing from Elain. 

“I-I never meant to scare you. That day, in Hybern. I would never hide it from you, but I should not have told you then. The bond just snapped and... it came out.” 

“You don’t need to apologize. I don’t think I was listening then, anyway.” 

“You... didn’t feel it?” 

Again, there were no words from Elain. Nesta glanced up at Azriel, wondering if his shadows let him see what she couldn’t. He shrugged. Either he couldn’t see her response, or he simply wouldn’t tell Nesta.  _ Fine. We’re only listening to make sure she’s ok.  _

“I know you… aren’t comfortable around me. After I leave, please do not feel… tied to me,” there was a sigh from him as Elain again remained silent, then a resigned, “ I don’t know why the Cauldron bonded us.” 

“I do.” The words were a whisper, weighted down with shame. Both Azriel and Nesta leaned forward, straining. “I do not know if it will make you feel better,” Nesta didn’t need to see her sister to hear the sad smile on her face. “I do not know you well enough.” 

This time it was Lucien’s turn to be silent. But he must have indicated somehow that he did want to know, for Elain explained what happened. “The Cauldron did not give me abilities. It... gave me memories. So many. They are not mine, but they feel like- It is very easy to get lost in them. You… stepped forward first. So the Cauldron made you a lifeline.” 

“Because I was there?” Lucien sounded… not quite angry, but not happy. 

“Yes.” 

He left without another word. Nesta sat back from the window, shuttering it as she considered Elain’s words. She had been between two worlds for months, between  _ here _ , and her  _ memories.  _ But not just her memories. The world’s memories. 

A soft knock sounded on her bathroom door. Nesta immediately opened the door, knowing only one person would be coming in from that room. 

Elain attached herself to Nesta immediately, holding her in a crushing hug. Without a thought, Nesta wrapped her arms around Elain, one arm around her back, one gently supporting her head. They stood there, holding on. 

“Nesta.” 

“Yeah?”

“You stink.” 

* * *

Elain sat on the closed toilet while Nesta bathed. 

“What changed?” Nesta asked, dragging a soapy washcloth over her arm. “When Azriel said you were a seer,” she clarified. 

Elain tilted her head, considering. “It was the missing piece,” she decided. “It had been getting easier- to remember without getting lost, but it still didn’t make sense. It’s like remembering a vivid dream, I didn’t know if they were real memories or not. But when Azriel said I was a seer- and Morrigan confirmed it- it made sense, and I could sort them.” 

“Did Lucien... help?” It was not lost on Nesta that the mixing of realities started when Lucien arrived in the House. She  _ had  _ called him a lifeline. 

“Yes. Having him near gave me something to pull on, to come back. But…” She bit her lip, deciding the best way to describe it. “There is a difference between not drowning and learning to swim.” 

Nesta nodded. She hated swimming. 

“I’m tired of talking about me,” Elain sighed. “Finish bathing and we can eat.” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. 

“One more question,” Nesta rinsed the suds off her body. 

“Go on.”

Nesta took a moment, trying to build up her nerve.  _ Do you know what I am? _ But what came out was, “Does this mean no one is  _ ever _ going to beat you at chess?” 

Elain smiled. “Find a board and find out.” 

They did find a board, courtesy of Cerridwen. Nesta was still exhausted, but she stayed up through the day, losing to Elain in the sitting room again, and again, and again. Lunch was served to them, and Elain served herself, requiring no coaxing or even an offer to eat. She just piled some of the hummus and flatbread on a little plate, moved her queen to check, and took bites while Nesta stressed over how to last just one more turn. She refilled her plate  _ 4  _ times. 

When Nuala finally came to take their plates away, Elain asked if she would like to play as well. The servant smiled and politely declined. Nesta tilted her head, she hadn’t seen Elain talk to anyone that casually in so long. 

“Hmm. it’s boring beating you,” Elain commented after Nuala rejected her. 

“We could play cards, give me a fighting chance?” She asked while covering a yawn.

Elain batted her hand, dismissing the suggestion. “Azriel,” dhe said to the room, then more firmly, “Azriel.” 

From the shadow under the stairs, the fae stepped out. “Yes?” 

She pointed at the board. “Do you play?” 

There was a ghost of a smile as he stepped over to them. “I do. But I am still on duty until dusk.” He glanced at the door. “Mor and Cass are planning on staying here tonight, they should be back with Lucien any moment.”    
  


“Later then,” she accepted, right as the three walked in the front door. Elain immediately turned back to the board, resetting it, clearly avoiding someone’s gaze. Azriel disappeared into his shadows again, unnoticed by the new arrivals. 

“Nesta. What do you know about Scythia?” Morrigan asked, walking up to them and sitting down. 

“I’m going to set these upstairs,” Lucien said, holding up an armful of weapons, trying equally hard to not look at Elain as she was to not look at him. 

“Comeback when you’re done, you need to hear this, too.” Morrigan called over her shoulder. She turned back to Nesta expectantly. 

Nesta rolled her eyes. “What do you want to know?”    
  


“Do they still maintain a cavalry, or any army? What about their government? Can the queen alone call an army, or is there a second in command?” She asked each question one right after the other. 

“I don’t know why you are asking Nesta mili-” Cassian started. 

“Scythia’s mounted units are still hailed as the best trained in the Continent, though they have not seen war in 500 years. They maintain neutrality in all other conflicts on the continent, so as to never have to redirect forces from guarding the Wall. The government, like all continental governments, is a monarchy supported by lords in a vassal system. The crown is supported by a council, the minister of war would be able to call the armies, though they may not receive support from the other ministers, crippling their supplies and strength. Such a system was designed to prevent a military coup d’etat similar to Bremerhaven’s in 200 AW. However, should the queen die or be unable to lead without an heir, her Council may unanimously choose a new heir, or they may rule in her stead. Considering she has been missing for months, they may already be in the middle of such a process.” Nesta recited off the facts with no inflection or emotion. 

Cassian looked floored. Morrigan was oddly smug, her expression echoed in Elain. 

“Unless any of that changed in the last decade, of course.” 

“Oh, I  _ missed  _ that,” Elain smiled. “You should ask her to recite the queens next, she used to be able to recite them all in order.” 

“Elain,” Nesta scolded, a little embarrassed at the praise. Also a little embarrassed that she wasn’t sure if she still  _ could _ recite them all in order. She hadn’t read a human history book in nearly 10 years. Right now she was more sure she could recite Wall scholars in order of how wrong they were. 

“That’s more knowledge than even Azriel has,” Cassian finally commented. Morrigan nodded. 

“Told ya, she’s a reader.” 

Elain smiled. “You have no idea. Nesta used to bully our tutor by quoting contradictory facts to her lesson plans, and we didn’t have much of a formal education after Madame Cartright got fired, so she would just recite whatever she read to mother at her bedside.”

“Elain.” Nesta said her name with more bite this time, rubbing her eyes. Her reading habits and bullying of tutors were fair game, but she really didn’t want to discuss her mother’s sickbed - with these people or anyone else, for that matter. 

“She died when you guys were young, right?” Morrigan asked. “Feyre said it was typhus?” 

“Yes she did,” Nesta said too quickly. “Is there anything else you want to know about the continent or is that all?” 

Morrigan tilted her head, studying Nesta. Nesta wasn’t sure if her power over the truth was compulsory or voluntary, but either way it was clear she knew Nesta was lying. But whatever else she thought about it, she understood Nesta was in  _ no _ mood to talk about it. So she didn’t pry, and seemed ready to change the subject. 

Someone should have told that to Cassian. 

He reached his hand out to hers, grasping it gently. “My mother died when I was young, too.”

For a moment, there was the same quiet spark she felt back in her parlor room, in front of the queens. The divine spark that warmed her chest and made her want to crawl into his arms and be held until she didn’t feel like crying anymore. The same spark that made her turn red from his smiles and imagine all manner of dirty things he could do with those fingers. The spark that ignited a fire in her she thought had died years ago. 

Something just… snapped into place. 

> _ Hurry now, child. Before your mates spoil my fun. _

Nesta whipped her hand back and stood with no small amount of speed, nearly knocking over the chess board.  _ No. _ “I don’t give a shit.”  _ This is not happening.  _ “Don’t pretend to know me because your  _ mommy  _ kicked the bucket a few centuries ago." _Not in front of them._ "I don’t need some bastard-bat’s pity.” Each word was a sneer, infantilizing and filled with all the hate she could muster.  _ I will not be chained. _

“Nesta,” Elain said her name with such disbelief. She knew it was the near the worst thing she could have said even without her input. By the rage that simmered in Morrigan’s eyes, she had all but killed any hope for respect from her childhood idols. From the hurt that shone in Cassian’s, she had finally found a target that  _ was _ too far. But she couldn’t take it back now. She couldn’t unsay the words. So she just turned her shoulder to him and stalked off to her bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 chapters to go baby. 
> 
> Mating bonds are dumb and the Cauldron is dumb and he should have known better than to try and have a genuine moment with me in front of other people.   
> ^Nesta until Cassian talks to her again 
> 
> And *that* is why Morrigan doesn't like Nesta. 
> 
> Azriel and Nesta both don't trust Lucien enough to actually leave him alone with a freshly sane Elain.


	41. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer court is under attack and Nesta has to wait.

“Really Nesta, we’re back to this shit again?” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Nesta turned away from Clare, sinking into her favorite and pointedly covering her face with a book. 

Clare pulled the book down, making Nesta pay attention to her. “I love you, but you make it so hard sometimes.” She offered Nesta a wry smile. She looked so pretty in her solstice dress, the orange matched her bright personality. Nesta always thought so. 

“But you love me,” Nesta smiled back. She knew Clare did, but she loved to hear it. Clare was the only one who got it. She could keep up. There might have been a little bit of doubt once, but Rhysand had seen it. He told her. Clare loved her. 

“I did, and I can’t anymore. Don’t make that mistake again.” 

* * *

Nesta woke up to bright morning sunshine. Midmorning. She’d overslept. Going to bed at dusk had let her not sleep through the day, but she still missed her training with Amren. If that was still happening today. They were  _ supposed _ to meet over breakfast and discuss whatever she may have found in the library. But then the library happened. 

Pushing herself up she noticed the note on her chest. 

> I’m napping. Be by later. 
> 
> -Amren

Nesta crumpled the note and tossed it into the bin. No need to worry about pissing off her teacher then. Of course Amren wouldn’t say  _ when _ , just later. She shouldn’t have worried about missing the lesson, Amren would have just shown up in her room and dragged her down the stairs by her ankles. Nesta rubbed the sleep from her eyes, yesterday lasted three days and sucked hard. 

Part of her wanted to stay in bed. She wouldn’t have to face anyone that way. She had stepped too far the night before, and worse, she did it with an audience. If it was just Cassian, he would get over it. Well, he seemed like the type to get over it. He knew she was tired, and that she’d just been attacked by a monster that morning, and that she generally didn’t like experiencing the full range human emotion. But it had to happen in front of Morrigan. God, the way she looked at Nesta. She was going to have Nesta’s ass for that stupid comment. The whole group probably knew by now, and they would have an opinion on it, and they would think that opinion mattered, and she was going to have to deal with it. 

How the fuck was she supposed to know it was a sore spot? He’s 500-something years old!

At least Lucien was leaving today. She wouldn’t need to hear his opinion on anything. Lucie Had he left already? Nesta glanced down to the garden, no Elain. Getting out of her bed, she walked through the bathroom and knocked on her sister’s door. 

“Come in,” she spoke with a surprisingly neutral voice. Nesta opened the door, finding Elain standing with all her clothes laid neatly on the bed. She was holding one of those lacy, uncomfortable looking things in her hands. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m organizing my dressers- the way I like them.” 

“Huh,” Nesta had never bothered to organize anything, here, the hut, or the estate. 

“Do you know what this is?”    
  


“Amren called it a bra, it’s apparently for your chest.” 

Elain studied it a bit longer and started blushing. “But it’s so little.” 

Nesta laughed as though she didn’t have the same thought. “Ask Nuala for some chemises, she brought me some that are properly fitted.” 

“No… I will try this.” Elain looked at the garment with determination and then said quietly, “Close the door.” 

Nesta closed the door and went back to her own room to dress. She still wasn’t sure if Lucien had left yet, but if Elain had decided to stay in her room organizing her underwear, she was probably trying to avoid talking about it. _ Fair enough,  _ Nesta supposed. Feyre’s nervous pacing in the living room confirmed Lucien’s absence. And from her constant glancing at the entryway, Rhysand wasn’t back from dropping him off. 

She didn’t feel like opening up that can of worms, so she just went to the kitchen and grabbed some tea before sitting at the dining room table to work on her shields. Amren had said she’d be stopping by  _ later _ but didn’t specify  _ when.  _ And since the library was a debacle, there really wasn’t anything else for her to do but wait for Amren to show up and start the lesson in earnest. 

And then she did. But she didn’t come for a lesson. 

“Hybern has attacked the Summer Court. They lay siege to Adriata as we speak.” 

Everything moved so fast after that. Cassian and Azriel just appeared in the townhouse. Less than 5 minutes later they were already out the door again with Rhysand, readying the troops for war. If they noticed her, they didn’t have time to show it. They had far more pressing issues. Because war was here. And they needed to fight a war. 

Holy shit. 

Amren left just as Morrigan arrived. She needed to fetch supplies for protecting Velaris. Morrigan immediately went upstairs with Feyre to- to prepare, she realized. Nesta started to follow after them, barely making it to the stairs before they appeared in the hallway, dressed in leather armor, hair braided back and down. Each woman- no, each female- had blades strapped on. 

Nesta had read stories about war. Bloody battles and triumphant victories. She had read of the exploits of Morrigan of the Truth and Jurian the Hero. She was so familiar with the concept. She had seen Cassian almost exclusively in his leathers. It was so common she had unconsciously thought of it as just a feature of his, like his hair or wings. But wasn’t until now, until she saw the same on Feyre and Morrigan, that he was wearing  _ armor. _ Because he was a  _ soldier _ . They weren’t going to fight a war. 

_They were going to fight_ ** _in_** _a war._

* * *

Nesta stood in the stairwell, watching the space where Feyre and Morrigan had just been standing, waiting. They would send word soon. They would be back soon. They would be victorious. 

They would all be alive. 

Elain walked down the hall, looking down to Nesta. 

“Are they on the warm sea?” she asked. 

Nesta drew her brow. The Summer Court. It was in that book. It’s capital was Adriata. Adriata was on the sea. 

“Should be by now,” Amren answered as Nesta began to say yes. She looked over Nesta, “Are you done gawking or can we work on something useful?” 

Nesta followed her wordlessly to the dining room. 

_ Hello my love. Oh I missed you, Princess of Decay. You were so pretty, fresh from the Cauldron. But you didn’t even notice me. Oh how could you not notice-  _

“Shut up!” Both Nesta and Amren snapped at the Book of Breathings in unison. 

“Why is it here?” Nesta asked.

Amren dismissed the entire far end of the table where the book sat, along with some ornate boxes and a rather auspicious red ruby. “If Hybern attacks here, and we need to evacuate, I’d rather not have to run across town to grab my things.” 

Nesta sat down, still side-eying the book.

“What?” Amren asked. 

“I hate to say it, but…” 

“The Book has what we need,” Amren completed, sighing. Nesta didn’t know how or why she knew. But it was just a feeling, a similarity. Whatever magic the Wall had, this Book was the only way to understand it. After a moment of silent frustration that the Book was the answer, Amren relaxed her expression, something else clicking into place. “That actually….” 

_ Do you want my help? Do you want my power? You, who have been so mean to-  _

“Shut up!” 

Both Amren and Nesta turned in stunned silence to Elain’s outburst. She took a seat next to Nesta and propped her head up on one hand, resting the other on the table. She turned her attention to Amren. 

“Where have they gone?” she asked. Amren looked at her younger sister as though she was a complete idiot, so Elain clarified her question. “I see fighting in a sand-colored city, war on warm waters, but I don’t know  _ where _ it is.” 

Nesta placed a hand on Elain’s. “Adriata, the capital of the Summer Court.” 

Amren continued to study Elain for a moment, and then she flicked her hand. A large roll of paper appeared in her hands. She spread it out on the table, revealing a map of the known world. It was the inverse of the maps they would study growing up. In their father’s library, everything above the Wall was vague and undetailed. On this map, everything south of the Wall was lacking detail. The physical geography looked correct, but they didn’t even try to place political borders. The names of the countries were just placed in the general vicinity of their location, but even then it was still fairly wrong. 

“Your visions will be more useful if you know where things are,” she explained, focusing on Elain first. She threw a quick glance to Nesta. “You know this already, practice your shielding with the Book. Make it so we can’t hear its incessant muttering.” 

Amren and Elain continued their geography lesson while Nesta focused on throwing up a shield around the Book. She had thought it would be easy, especially with how she was able to successfully open a door the previous day, but this was particularly difficult. Every time she’d surround it, the Book would begin feeling along her shield, reaching out with some strange power, and cleave right through. 

“A physical shield won’t work with that thing, girl. Try to create a mental one.” 

Nesta tried again. She had never tried to  _ create  _ a mental shield, only reinforce hers. Amren had told her she had a natural one. From her first lesson, she had read that mental shields are unique to each person, born from their will and shaped by their nature. Born from will. 

She focused on this Book. On its honey-tongued poison. It liked to speak, and not just to her. It had spoken to Elain. It liked to insert itself in other people’s business. It wanted attention and affection. It wanted to think it was more important in her life than it was. Pretend that it understood her pain and her struggles. It needed to shut up. She needed it to shut up. 

A wrought iron fence clanked into being around it. Six main posts and another 30 smaller columns, held upright by three levels of cross-bars. The top of each vertical bar was pointed and sharp, like the hairpin Amren gave her. She willed the bars to bend, for the points to go inward. From the main posts, branches of ashwood germed and grew, entwining themselves with the iron, weaving an impenetrable wall. 

Deafening silence from the Book. No whispers, no grumbling, just wonderful nothingness. Nesta sighed with relief. 

And her Wall dispersed. 

_ Why create Walls, princess? Use. Destroy. Take.  _

Nesta was already out of breath. This was so much more tiring than the physical shields. It took all of her focus to create, all of her focus to maintain, and from the exhaustion already creeping into her bones, a bigger chunk of power than the physical shields as well. She only managed to get the shield created three more times, each time taking longer to build, and could only hold it up for a few minutes at most when Amren had them pause lessons for food. 

With the noisy little shit in the dining room, they took the meal in the sitting room. Nesta was hungry. She knew she was hungry, that using magic makes her super hungry. But for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to eat. She stood up from the armchair. 

“I’m going to practice a bit more.” 

“No you’re not,” Amren didn’t allow for argument in her tone. “Sit and eat.” 

Nesta argued anyway. “Aren’t you always hounding me to practice?” 

“You’re already pale and your stomach has been growling for 20 minutes,” Amren crossed her arms. “Eat or I tie you to the chair.” Her eyes glowed menacingly. Elain collected her plate and excused herself, trying to stay as removed from this conflict as possible. 

“I’m going to check on the garden before it gets dark.” 

Nesta and Amren continued to glare at one another. There was probably an argument to be made as to why Nesta should be allowed to go back and continue building her shields. But for the life of her she couldn’t think of one. So she just continued to engage in this childish staring contest, hoping Amren would blink first and let her go. 

Her teacher did not blink first, but she did speak first. “Exhausting yourself dangerously will not bring them home sooner or safer.”  _ No but it keeps me from thinking about it.  _ Amren placed a hand on her ruby necklace. Nesta had noticed it when she came back, but didn’t think anything of it. The small monster almost always wore jewelry fit for a royal coronation. “So sit, eat, rest, and we will continue lessons after.” 

Nesta took a seat, carefully, and found it in her to force down a bite of food. It was delicious, as the food always was, but nothing was appetizing at the moment. “Who gave that to you?” She had said she brought her things, just in case. But they were only a few. Her most precious things, then. That necklace had to be special.

“Prince Varian of Adriata.”    
  


“The one that sent the warning?” Amren had explained it to Feyre earlier. She had called him a friend then, but with  _ that _ necklace, he was probably something more. “If you have such a relationship with the prince, why hasn’t Summer already agreed to ally with us?” 

Amren looked down at the plate, the silent offer clear. Nesta took another bite and only then got her answer. “Because we stole the Book from them.” 

Getting the full story required finishing the whole plate. Elain rejoined them by the time Amren pulled out the blood ruby - brought with her as one of her precious items, of course. She explained how it was a promise to seek their lives, the highest level of a threat in the Summer Court. 

“And they still went?” Nesta asked, more worried now than she had been previously. She had thought they went to help a potential ally, not an enemy. They were choosing to walk into a potential three-way fight. Oh fuck. What if they defeat Hybern just to have the Summer Court point the blade to them. 

“They did,” was all Amren said before taking a sip of her blood. 

* * *

They tried shielding a bit more, but Nesta could no longer find it in her to focus. She kept trying, but everytime she would try to focus on keeping the Book quiet, her mind would drift to the battle. Was it still going? Were they alright? 

When the missive came, well after dark, informing them that the battle had ended and nothing more, there was no real relief. Did everyone survive? Were there injuries? Did someone else she  lo care  knew get sent off to die only hearing her words of anger? She shouldn’t have let Amren make her eat. She was going to throw up. 

After it became clear no more progress could be made on shielding, Amren brought them back to the sitting room. She suspiciously offered to discuss theories on the Wall and its nature instead of continuing the silent research or practice from previous lessons. Perhaps to keep their minds off of things they had no control over, perhaps just because she needed someone to bounce ideas off of. Elain - for her part - stayed up with them as long as she could, but without the background of Nesta’s weeks of research or innate understanding, she didn’t have much to contribute. If the Cauldron had given her any memories applicable to the discussion, she either chose not to voice them, or she didn’t have a way of knowing they were relevant. Eventually boredom or exhaustion or both overtook her and she fell asleep curled up on the couch. 

“What if the Wall is similar to the Court boundaries?” Amren pondered. 

“How so?”   
  


Another textbook appeared on the table in front of them, it was thicker than the last set and hit the surface with a loud  _ thunk. _ Amren flipped it open to some random page and started pointing at a passage. As she read through it, Nesta realized she recognized it. She had read it quite some time ago, when she was trying to understand this new and ancient land.  From the Cauldron to the Court: A Look at the Early History and Formation of Prythian described how the magic of each court was distinct, how entire biomes would change as soon as one crossed the border. 

“Right,” Nesta nodded. “The borders keep the magic of each Court contained, but what forms them?” 

“If you’d recall-”

“You are still going?” Elain yawned. Nesta and Amren both looked up to her, one with slightly more malice than the other. She pointed to the front windows. “It’s already dawn.” Indeed the black and white glow of the night had already changed to an easy grey of a new day, but they still didn’t have any new news from the others. That did not make Nesta feel better. No need to worry Elain. 

“We’re just waiting for the others. Why don’t you go and bathe? You still have dirt on your dress.” She hadn’t changed since working in the gardens the night before. Nesta led Elain to the stairs and watched her go up, ignoring the glares from Amren. Being up was actually surprisingly nice, and after hours folded on a chair reading dusty old books, a welcome change. 

She paced a bit in the foyer, motioning for Amren to continue. “What forms the borders?”

“If you recall-” 

Feyre, Morrigan, and Rhysand winnowed in just as Amren began to speak. Drawing any and all attention away from discussions about the Wall. Seeing just them brought an overwhelming sense of relief, and then a horrible sense of dread as seeing  _ just them _ sunk in. 

“What happened?” 

The three of them looked between each other and to Amren, now walking over. The hesitation in their answer made Nesta fear the worst.    
  


“There was a battle. We won.” 

“We know that. What happened with Tarquin?” 

Feyre answered, interrupting whatever Morrigan was going to say. “Well he didn’t try to slaughter us on sight, so… things went decently?” Nesta could strangle her sister for the lack of detail in these answers, but Rhysand added in more relevant details. 

“The royal family remains alive and well. Tarquin’s armada suffered losses, but Cresseida and Varian were unscathed.” The news was enough to relax Amren, but not exactly what Nesta cared about. 

“Where is he?” she asked. 

“Who?” Rhysand responded, as though he didn’t know  _ who  _ she was talking about. She wasn’t in the mood for games. 

“Cassian.” 

This time it was Morrigan’s turn to cut off Feyre, “He’s busy.” From her tone and expression, she was still pissed about Nesta’s last comment to him. Nesta didn’t back down from Morrigan’s disapproval, though she did fight to keep from lashing out. Morrigan was pissed at her, but she was  _ only _ pissed at her. She wasn’t holding back tears or concerned in a round-about way. Cassian was alive and fine then. 

Probably. 

Shit. Nesta needed to ask. She wasn’t going to stop worrying until-

“When he gets back, keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.” 

So he was fine then, just actually busy. And Morrigan was, as Nesta had predicted,  _ way _ more pissed than she had any right to be. But underneath the indignation, annoyance, and mortification surrounding Morrigan’s ire, some small part of Nesta was pleased that he had someone who would be angry on his behalf. An equal part was jealous for the same reason. 

Morrigan winnowed away on Rhysand’s orders, displeased with the entire room, it seemed. Nesta headed back to the sitting room, Amren following behind. 

“Where were we?” 

“You were explaining how the territory lines were formed between courts,” Nesta looked at the book as she gave the answer. She couldn’t focus on Amren’s initial answer. She just kept remembering that she bit Cassian’s ear when he interrupted her reading it. That she only started reading it because he had made her relax and sleep and take a breath away from Elain long enough to realize she needed to take breaks from Elain. And potentially the last thing she would have ever said to him was mocking him for grieving his mother. 

“Cassian has gone to war many times, girl. He isn’t general of Rhys’s forces for nothing,” Amren gently touched Nesta’s shoulder as she said the words in an unnaturally soft tone. “This battle was a skirmish compared to what lies ahead. He’s likely visiting the families of the fallen as we speak. He’ll be back before the meeting.” 

“I don’t care,” she lied. 

Morrigan was right to hate her. 

That’s all cowards deserve. 

* * *

Cassian didn’t come back that day. Nor did he come back the next one. Amren, having actually learned something from their all-night discussion, left Nesta to stew on her own while she continued decoding the Book. Nesta offered to help, but the language was foreign, to say the least. 

Two days passed with absolutely nothing for Nesta to do besides sit around and wait and think. The library was up at the House of Wind, and with everyone so busy preparing for the meeting, there was no one to take her. Even Elain found a new hobby, somehow ending up with Nuala and Cerridwen in the kitchens, cooking. Nesta just stayed in place, running over conversations in her head. 

Feyre’s logic for helping the Summer. 

Azriel’s logic for fighting the War. 

Cassian’s stupid vow. 

Not just conversations. 

Turning away from the Wall. 

Stealing from the Cauldron. 

Elain’s stupid friends. 

Jurian’s desperate play and sacrifice.

Isaac and Rebekah and their children.

The fear that everyone died in vain. 

> Honor belongs between fights of men, not monsters

  
  


She found Elain in the kitchen, kneading bread. 

“I don’t think you even knew where Mrs.Cowell kept the flour,” Nesta said, sitting down in a stool across from her. 

“I didn’t,” she answered, tossing the dough. “And I’m now realizing why her arms were so big,” she huffed and folded it back on itself. Finally gathering it up, she placed it in a bowl and covered it with a towel. She glanced up under the weight of Nesta’s stare. “Something you want to talk about?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Not really.” She just wanted to watch Elain. Seeing her  _ do  _ things was almost therapeutic. Elain nodded and turned to the stove and put on a pot of water. 

“You have my permission, you know,” she said with her back still to her sister. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been paying attention to their discussions more, now. Everytime they bring up when or where or who might attend or what the odds are to get them on their side. You want to go.” Elain turned around, placing her hands on either side of the stove, bracing herself. “And you can’t tell your story without telling mine.” 

Nesta felt herself sway a bit in her seat under her sister’s scrutiny. Of course she figured it out. She pressed her mouth closed and looked up, trying to read Elain’s body language, but finding nothing. Elain was capable of being stone, too, it seemed. 

“Do you want to go?” 

“Feyre wouldn’t let me even if I felt like I could get through it without…” she shook her head. Apparently she wasn’t entirely better, nor had she entirely mastered navigating her gift. That makes two of them. “But you should. Play Miryam for the both of us.” Her uneasy smile hardened into a snarl as she nodded to Nesta’s hair and threw in, “And wear iron.” 


	42. Lords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to Dawn and have a chat with all the High Lords.

“You look beautiful.” 

The words came out, as unexpected and unplanned as a burp. Out of all of Feyre’s ridiculous outfits, this was the best one. It went against absolutely every sensibility of elegance, and was the ostentatious mirror of Nesta’s own simple velvet number, but it  _ worked. _ The dress was constructed out of dozens of columns of white-blue gemstone, tight around her bust and waist before falling formlessly to the ground. The connections between the columns seemed to end around her thigh, allowing her legs to move through a curtain of glittering stars. Throw in the makeup, the earrings, the hair, and the tiara, and it all added it to far too much, yet somehow  _ just _ enough. 

“That, Cassian,” Morrigan gestured up to Nesta, “is what you were attempting to say.” When she said his name, Nesta’s attention went to him. She had heard him all morning, stomping around behind the rest, getting ready for the meeting. But she hadn’t seen him in over a week, not since he left for Adriata. He had not looked at her since before then. And he still wasn’t. But just knowing he was here, in the house, had soothed the ridiculous anxiety that had been plaguing her since he left. It was part of why she was able to get dressed this morning to do this. 

He kept his attention on Morrigan and muttered back, “She doesn’t need me to tell her she’s beautiful. That’s what Rhys and you are for.”    
  


Everyone else ignored him, and Feyre spoke to Nesta, dragging her attention away from where her eyes wanted to wander. “Thank you. You do as well.” Nesta shrugged in response. Her own dress was stunning, but it wasn’t new to any of them. She had worn the blue velvet to their first dinner at the House. She didn’t even have the silver combs this time, only her iron pin. “Why are you dressed so nicely? Shouldn’t you be practicing with Amren?” 

Nesta took a breath, looking down at her sister’s feet. “I’m going with you. I...” This was the hard part. Changing her mind was one thing, but admitting to it was a whole other ball game. She lifted her gaze, looking to Feyre, only Feyre. She had other amends and admissions and confessions to make, but this one was due to her sister more than the others. “I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” 

“No one would say that.”    
  


“I would.”  _ I do.  _ She made a point to meet everyone’s eye. Everyone except Cassian. She was not ready for him yet. Whatever judgement he had for her, she needed to get this out before she faced it. “It was some distant thing. War. Battle. It… it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. Even if it means…” she took a breath, “telling them what happened.” 

“You’ve given enough.” 

“No.”  _ I’ve lost enough. I haven’t  _ given  _ a damn thing.  _

“Amren claimed you were close to mastering whatever skill you need. You should stay-focus on that.” 

“A day or two delay in my training won’t make any difference. Perhaps by the time we return, Amren will have decoded the spell in the Book.” Amren had more faith in her own skills to find the spell for Nesta to cast than she did in Nesta’s ability to do this on instinct. She had already given her blessing to Nesta going. If for no other reason than they had no way of knowing how the Wall would react to her.  _ I do not want to repeat Hybern, _ she said. But they didn’t need to know all that, and it wasn’t the reason she was going, anyway. 

“You went off to battle for a court you barely know- who barely consider you friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. When I asked you why… you said because it was the right thing. People need help. No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the Wall. No one cares. But I do.”  _ Every lying, manipulative, wonderful, kind, stupid, brave, two-faced, selfish one of them. _ “I do.” 

Rhysand looked up at her. For the first time, she did not see a trace of judgement, disdain, or pity. It was something new for them - respect. 

“As High Lady, Feyre is no longer my emissary to the Human world. Want the job?” 

_ Job. _ Nesta never thought she’d ever have one of those.  _ Interesting. _ “Consider this meeting a trial basis. And I’ll make you pay through the teeth for my services.” 

He bowed to her. Casual, but still. “I would expect nothing less from an Archeron sister. Welcome to the Court. You’re about to have one hell of a first day.” 

Despite herself, despite the nerves and dread, she felt herself smile. Maybe it was the  _ job _ or maybe it was relief that she was going to the meeting not as a victim and beggar, but in an official capacity.    
  


“No going back now,” Cassian gestured to Rhys’s wings, but she couldn’t help but think he was talking to her. 

“I figure it’s time for the world to figure out who has the largest  _ wingspan _ .” No cultural translation or textbook was needed to interpret that. From the way Rhys spoke, there was no doubt in her mind - at all - that he was talking about the size of his dick. Men are the same everywhere, even if they are technically males. 

Nesta shook her head and walked down the stairs while they bet on who was most likely to start a fight and how soon. She even laughed a little bit when Rhysand ended a lecture on behaving themselves with the highest bet of them all. 

She tried to hold onto that good humor as Azriel disappeared first and gave Rhysand the all clear. This was it. If she was going to follow along with her habit, this was when she would run. It was the last possible moment. But while she felt nerves, there was no dread, just a flutter of warm butterflies. Or bats, she should say. 

One in particular was now standing over her. She had tried to not look at him until now, because she couldn’t handle his admonishment. But this warm feeling, part of it was from him, coming down that stupid bond she had been trying to ignore. She looked up to him, meeting his hazel eyes with her blue ones. 

“Hello, Nesta,” he said the words the same way he had months ago, in her bedroom in her home. 

“So you’re alive,” she really hoped she kept her control and said the words she meant to and not “thank the fucking Wall you are alive you stupid fucking bat.” 

He put on his little show of vitality - spreading his wings and flexing and what not- all while not breaking eye-contact, but still taunting her as he said, “Were you hoping otherwise?”  _ Did you worry? Did you miss me?  _

_ Of course I missed you. Of course I worried.  _ “You didn’t come to-” She stopped herself before the unspoken words became real. They had much, much more to say. And none of it would be said here, in front of everyone. But he didn’t need her to say it, not right now. He took her hand, and it wasn’t forgiveness for her outburst, but promise that he was still going to take her hand despite her venom. She held his back, not forgiving him for making her worry for a week as punishment for a comment she made, but a promise to not run. 

As the world faded to black his breath warmed her ear and he vowed, “Next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.” 

Her toes curled in her velvet slippers.

* * *

  
Fuck Velaris,  _ this  _ is a fae palace. 

Nesta stared slack-jawed at the castle - the kingdom- around her. The towers speared upwards to the sky, harsh edges giving way to gentle curves of the walls. The stones blended into the clouds they pierced, reflecting the cool colors of dawn. The gold ornamentation on the domes, the banisters, even just embedded into the trim wasn’t pure gold per say, but was pinker in hue, a rose-gold, blended with silver. 

Dawn was supposedly a kingdom of magic invention. Lucien’s weird-ass eye came from here. But from the castle, all she could see was bountiful farmland and simple villages. The palace itself was an architectural marvel, she supposed. But it felt organic, like the stone had naturally emerged from the ground like this. She watched awestruck as a woman with glorious white and gold-feathered wings dropped from the top of one of the towers and flew down to a village. A seraphim, maybe? Or a peregryn? Which one was native to Dawn again? 

She followed along with her group, caring less about the guide or whatever Feyre and her husband were flirting over. She wasn’t even really looking in front of her. Cassian tugged on her hand to drag her along, eventually passing the job off to Morrigan so he could fall in line behind them. She couldn’t pay attention to anything but her surroundings. Every room looked just as beautiful as the entrance. They passed a room lined with pillows and blankets and even without touching them she knew they’d feel like a cloud.  _ This,  _ she thought,  _ this is what the Children of the Blessed preached about. _

A spot of darkness passed through her vision, interrupting her appreciation for the Dawn Court’s interior decorating. She followed it to Azriel, his shadow retreated back to his hands. Quietly, he informed who all they would see in the chamber. “Helion, Kallias, and Thesan are currently present. We are still missing Tarquin and Beron.”  _ And we don’t expect Tamlin. _ The three nodded in response. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. Night was historically friendly with both Day and Winter, and Dawn was hosting, so if Thesan  _ wasn’t _ present then it would be very bad. 

They reached the top of a long, open stairwell, just below the view of where she figured the meeting would take place when she felt something bump up against her mental shield. She jumped a little, but it did not pry or go further, it just formed a thin shell around her own thicket of ashwood.  _ It’s Rhysand, _ she realized. He had added his own shield to hers, probably to all of them. Whether he did this to supplement their own, to know if someone was trying to invade, just to hide that they knew  _ how _ to shield, she didn’t know. 

They stepped up to the conference chamber. It was not at all what Nesta pictured a High-Lord meeting room to be, and it absolutely fit the sensibilities of this palace. In the center of the room lay a small pond, filled with fish and water lilies. The pond was surrounded by beautiful ornate chairs. The chairs themselves were all part of the same collection, but varied, some having traditional backs, others the thin back that allowed winged-fae to sit comfortably. 

After seeing the fae fly down, she supposed that the man standing with a small entourage of them had to be Thesan, High Lord of Dawn. He certainly seemed as peaceful as the dawn, dressed in a linen tunic and harem pants, with silk slippers. His skin appeared as though the sun was constantly rising within it, illuminating him with it’s gold and pinks. He was the first to approach them, greeting only Rhysand and Feyre. Nesta kept an ear on their words as she moved on to the other lords in the room. 

High Lords are easy to spot, since their power falls around them like a cloak. The next one to catch her eye did so for no other reason than his power was blinding. So blinding it nearly hid the entourage behind him. Day, then. He was perfectly tan for it, as though his skin had absorbed its power by absorbing the sunshine itself. He was dressed in ancient clothes, the style of Alkanes, a kingdom long dead. She had seen similar renderings of chitons in her history books, a momentary fascination when her father had found and sold an Alkanian relic. In the books, chitons came in all colors, but of course, the day was only in white and gold. His build and the lines on his face were that of a man who enjoyed life and it’s pleasures, but his posture and expression… he was not here for such frivolities. She liked Helion already. 

Next to the sunshine of Day stood the blue-white frost of what had to be the High Lord of Winter. Kallias was standing with three other Fae who could have all been related to him. All were so pale their skin was nearly translucent, with similar white hair and the lightest of blue eyes. They dressed in furs and silver-embroidered leathers. Warm for this climate, but a grand show of their own heritage. Nesta had a similar respect for their icy show of quiet dignity…

Right up until one of his entourage joined Mor in a squealing, hug-filled reunion that hurt Nesta’s ears. Watching their reunion was a bit confounding. Nesta couldn’t imagine at first why Morrigan would act so immaturely as she introduced the High Lord and his wife to her High Lady… until they mentioned Under the Mountain, and she recalled Amren’s little primer. 

> _ “Traditionally, the Night Court is friendly with the other Solar Courts and the Winter Court on our border. But the Amaranthra decimated almost a full generation of younglings in their territory, and announced that it was Rhysand who did it.”  _

Morrigan’s little outburst with his wife, Viviane, was perhaps intentional then. Looking at how Kallias regarded Rhysand, it had to be. Mor was reminding the room that their courts were friendly once, and that they could be again. She was buying her cousin the benefit of the doubt, to be allowed to explain that he was not responsible for Amaranthra’s actions - all without giving away her intention.  _ Clever,  _ Nesta thought. 

Helion approached them next, his long onyx hair flowing behind him. He was the only one to focus his inspection on Feyre and not Rhysand’s wings. Apparently they were not common knowledge to anyone. And he was the first one to correctly suss out her sister’s fancy new title. From the reaction of everyone else, and Cassian and Azriel feeling the need to step closer to her for protection,  _ High Lady _ was not a common title, maybe even a new one. 

Helion laughed a false and dark laugh, like he was playing a game where no one but him knew the rules, setting their hosts on edge. Perhaps he was promising conflict here, but whatever he was planning faded when he finally took note of Nesta, standing behind the rest. His unnatural amber eyes met Nesta’s steel ones. The rest might have passed her over as a new addition to the entourage, just another high-fae. But this one, this one could sniff out her difference. Good, she was tired of being ignored. 

“Who is your guest?” he asked, his hushed tone matching Nesta’s assessment of his knowledge. 

Azriel and Cassian tensed, both ready to move should this go south, but it was Feyre who answered. “She is my sister, and our emissary to the human lands.” She stepped back to Nesta’s side, trying to stall out the curiosity in Helion’s gaze. “And she will tell her story when the others are here.” 

“She is Fae,” was all he said. He knew, they all knew, that Feyre was human, Made into Fae by their own power. That her sister no longer was begged a whole new set of questions. 

“No shit,” Viviane muttered. Nesta decided then that squealing aside, she liked Viviane. 

“Who Made her?” Thesan asked. Nesta turned to him. He was trying to seem polite, impassive, but there was panic in the angle of his head - in Helion’s observance, and in Kelion cold glare. They weren’t asking because they cared that she was Made. They were worried that the Night Court might have the power to Make fae as they see fit. Waiting to tell them would only keep them suspicious and on-edge longer than necessary. 

“Hybern did.” The rest of the story could wait for the other lords. Let that edge of panic, the fear of power imbalance be thrown to Hybern. It would only help their cause for now. They watched her, wondering and curious at the tale. Good, let them wonder. Let that curiosity fester. It will only make them her most captive audience. 

Feyre took her arm and led her to their seats, choosing to throw Nesta’s theatrics out the window and tell the story now, rather than wait. A poor decision, in Nesta’s mind, but not as poor as it would be to try and interrupt her or stall. So when Feyre finished telling the shortest possible summary of what happened, she simply took her seat and nodded. 

The rest followed suit, taking their seats around the pond. Servants brought them food and drink while they talked, waiting for the others. Most of the room listening in on Viviane’s tale of her time defending the Winter Court during Amaranthra’s reign of terror. After getting to the end, Nesta couldn’t help but agree with her outburst from earlier. She  _ should _ be High Lady.

Helion spent most of the time staring at her. He wasn’t subtle about it. It reminded her of when she first met Cassian, the appraisal. From the way Cassian quietly seethed next to her in his seat, he knew it, too. He was trying to solve the puzzle of her existence by just staring at her. It was… oddly nice. Her entire life was men looking at her face and breasts and lusting after them. Now she was being studied because of her very nature, because of the power she had stolen and was fighting to make her own. Let him look. Let him attempt to solve the puzzle not even Amren could. 

Tarquin arrived next, drawing attention to his entrance. Nesta was immediately struck with how dark he was. His skin reminded her of the doctor that had set Elain’s ankle. It was only emphasized by his pale white hair. “Apologies for my tardiness, we have been very busy since our capital was assaulted.” Nesta watched him and his party take their seats, noting how little friends he had in the room. Whether that was due to him being a young High Lord or due to incompetence, she was unsure. But she understood further why the Night Court had to go to assist. No one else would. 

Autumn was the last to arrive, in character with everything else Nesta had gleaned about them. She wouldn’t have put it past them to have waited until they heard that everyone else was present. He was a severe man, his features similar to Lucien’s but more exaggerated and less pleasant. Though the lack of pleasantness could have merely been the perpetual scowl. He brought four sons with him, each one a photocopy of the other, each a pale Lucien, each seeming less remarkable than the last. They must know it, too, because they heeded the eldest’s scolding. 

The member of the party Nesta focused on was the Lady of Autumn. Her fiery hair was clearly where the boys got theirs, their gentle features, too. But what struck Nesta was how meek she looked. She met one person’s eye and ducked her gaze, later looked almost pathetically up at her husband. Watching her, Nesta knew everything she needed to know about the Lord and Lady of Autumn, and their sons. They might as well have the surname Mandray. 

Nesta felt her power stir, and she let it have a moment of freedom before tamping it down again. Her companions equally allowed their power to rise, leveling their ire at the new arrivals - the oldest son most of all. She knew Morrigan and he had some dark history, though she asked no details. More than anyone, she understood that who gets told what and when was just about the only power you have over that type of situation. To her credit, Morrigan seemed the most at ease member of the court. Nesta wasn’t entirely convinced she’d ever be able to see Tomas without hyperventilating and obliterating him into dust. 

Helion, in his focus on her, was the only one of the lords to notice the one who was Cauldron-Made. He turned from watching the Autumn Court to her. There was a question in his eyes, the same everyone had when they felt her power. What was it that he felt from her? What power did she emerge from the Cauldron with? She gave no answers, reining in her power, letting it lay in wait as she was slowly learning who exactly she was in a meeting with. And when Thesan began the meeting proper, he dropped his silent inquiry. 

And then the Beast arrived. 

* * *

Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Tamlin arrived alone because Feyre had left his Court in such shambles that there was no one left to come with. He was angry, unhinged as he smiled at the room. A man teetering on the edge. 

Nesta wanted to push him off it. 

Taking in the crown Feyre was wearing seemed to do the trick, actually. He managed to hold his anger in momentarily, but she could see it buzzing in his movements. The way he took the chair from the attendants, how haphazardly he sat. Tamlin had taken one look at Feyre, crowned and happy with her husband, her mate, and he fractured completely. Something that was abundantly clear to everyone when the first words he said were: 

“It would seem congratulations are in order.” 

Rhysand immediately moved to dismiss the meeting for now. “I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies,” he explained with an almost kind tone. 

“No, you’re in the business of fucking them.” The power vibrated in Nesta, and it was a struggle to hold it back. If this was how the meeting was going to start then she needed to keep constant vigil on her power and her temper.  _ This was the guy you went Under the Mountain for? Really, Feyre? _

Rhysand, somehow, maintained his composure, even smiled. “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.” 

“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” The tension in the room was momentarily cut by utter confusion. What the fuck was he going on about? Tamlin produced a claw from his knuckle, dragging it down the side of the chair, leaving little scratch marks on it. Nesta watched that claw and saw a painted table leg, the only proof her sister was in danger. Only to find out later she wasn’t in danger. I guess now she knows that her sister  _ really  _ was. “If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.” 

And Feyre- bless her- said, “the sun was shining when I left you.” 

But Tamlin stuck to his own deluded version of events. The version where he was the hero, Rhysand was the enemy who corrupted Feyre, and Hybern was to be the stooge. He conveniently left out any and all details about what his own lackeys did to Feyre, her sister’s, or the people living on the Archeron estate. 

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative. You don’t get to spin this to your advantage,” Feyre was trying to wrestle back control, the truth of the situation. But there is a problem with being a woman in this world. 

Tamlin ignored her, speaking only to Rhysand, her new master. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?” Nesta flinched, her own anger rising, her own retorts ready, but Cassian put his hand on her knee, glancing back.  _ This is not your fight. _ Azriel gave the warning on behalf of the court. A soldier serving his High Lady, but they all remained quiet as Tamlin did his damndest to defame and discredit her sister. The entire time, the grip on her knee was growing tighter and tighter, as though it was holding him in place, too. Nesta looked over to see Cassian, Morrigan, and Azriel all incredibly tense, straining to stay seated. Were they under orders? Did Rhysand tell them to let Tamlin speak?

_ Why?  _ Why let him speak like this? Why not tear him to pieces where he sat? 

_ “Do you hear the threats, the language they use in the Night Court?”  _

They could not be the villains here. They had to take the abuse. They had to remain calm and let Tamlin be unhinged. So when Rhysand told them he had nothing to do with the slaughter of children, Morrigan’s work with Viviane would pay off, and there would be a chance he would be believed. Which is- exactly what happened. 

“I was not present Under the Mountain, but I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to stop her.” From how hard it was for her to say the words, Viviane had to consider her failure at saving them her burden, as well. 

Beron, who seemed delighted with Tamlin’s show from the start, was equally delighted when Rhysand went quiet. Nesta… could only guess at what he had tried. 

“I believe you,” Feyre comforted. It was all they could offer each other in this regard. Belief in the other’s side of the story, in their truth. But Beron - ever the abuser- only sought to discredit the victim. 

  
“Says the woman who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead - for Amaranthra to butcher as well.” 

There was no stopping the snarl from escaping Nesta’s throat. How dare he? How dare this man invoke her Clare? Feyre and Rhysand seemed to be too caught up in their own turmoil, but others took notice of her reaction. Cassian, Helion, Viviane, Thesan, Eris, and even Beron finally took note of death sitting next to the High Lady of Night. 

Rhysand spoke his truth. The details were vague, but the story was clear. Beron continued to be exactly as he was, but his son had the decency to shut him up. Tamlin however, just did exactly what one could expect him to do. Deny it all. 

“Stories and words. Is there any proof?” 

It was Cassian’s turn to be held back. Morrigan stopped him in front, and Nesta grabbed his leathers. If they weren’t allowed to kill anyone today, neither was he. Rhysand’s story was believed though, it seemed. Maybe not by Beron, and maybe Tamlin was in active denial, but by the one party they needed to believe them did. 

Kallias turned back to Tamlin. “Why are you  _ here _ ?”

Tamlin’s momentary spasm spoke volumes. He knew this wasn’t going his way, but he continued to try anyway. “I am here to help you fight against Hybern.” 

“Bullshit,” Cassian and Nesta muttered the words at the same time. 

But Tamlin continued, kept trying, kept sneering. He even made a pass at Nesta, mentioning all he did for Feyre’s family, finding not a scrap of gratitude in her snarl. But there was no need for her or any of the Night Court to continue getting angry at him. He was getting more and more desperate, and his words had long started falling on deaf ears. 

“You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,” Helion took control of the conversation, and the room. Under his lazy control, he got Tamlin to produce his proof that he was working against Hybern, to conjure the tactical information he gleaned. Helion, as shrewd as he looked, didn’t trust it for a moment, countering with an ask for proof that information was accurate. His little question didn’t stop him from swiping some of the documents and reading them anyway. 

_ “This is war. You take any information you can get your hands on and verify it later.” _

If they ever got the chance, he should play Elain in chess. 

But Tamlin’s counter once again was the same bullshit. “Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this is a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?” 

Nesta’s knee jerk reaction was entirely genuine. “You can’t be serious.” He had to be dumb. So very dumb. Nesta was sitting right there. Tamlin’s cronies slaughtered her people. Hybern dumped her in the Cauldron. What possible world was he hoping for that made him look innocent in this? But he kept his madness going. Lodging accusations at  _ Varian  _ of all people. 

“You’re insane,” Feyre finally concluded. “Do you hear what you’re saying? Hybern turned my sisters into Fae after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” 

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress, I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” 

Nesta had to laugh at that. The sheer lunacy of it. She couldn’t decide what was more ridiculous, that he seemed to believe everyone who’d ever done anything evil was mind controlled by Rhys, or that he thought  _ Feyre _ was a good actress. But her humor died in seething rage. “If you want someone to blame for all this,” she gestured half-heartedly to her face and Feyre, “perhaps you should first look in the mirror.” 

Tamlin snarled, not knowing who he was playing with. Nesta smiled back, daring him to attack her again. Cassian jumped to her defense with his own growl. “ _ Watch it _ .” Tamlin looked between them, looking for something to use against the unknown, settling on Cassian’s wings. 

“Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.” 

If he meant to confuse her, he succeeded.  _ What does that even mean? Why  _ **_other_ ** _ preferences?  _ Nesta was going to ask him to clarify when Feyre jumped in, her own power finally being cut loose.  _ Ah, the dig was for her, not me.  _ And as she always did, Feyre rose to even the most base of accusations. And Tamlin was back in his comfortable territory, calling her sister a whore.

Nesta rolled her eyes and looked around the room. Not even Beron seemed to care about what he had to say anymore. His documents were safe with Helion. Tamlin had no use anymore, nothing worth hearing. And if he had nothing left worth hearing...Nesta tried to focus on him as she drew up just a splash of power from her well. Just a splash, just to shut him up. 

And then he did. And she still had the handful of power in her.

“The gasping fish look is a good one fore you, Tamlin.” Nesta turned her attention to Rhysand as it dawned on her, and everyone here, that he had taken away the fucker’s ability to speak. For the first time, he was showing exactly how scary he can be. Not the show for the Hewn City, but the actual horror he could, and would, do. “If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern, consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.” It was a salient argument. Tamlin’s convoluted plan was much more unbelievable (if that’s possible) if you take into consideration that it is wholly unnecessary. 

Everything seemed fine for a while after that. Tarquin came in for the save, providing the final stroke to make the Night Court seem magnanimous and forgivable. Even when Eris brought up Lucien, Feyre was able to play it off well. Nesta held her tongue when they mentioned Elain, knowing it was Eris’ show. He was already allied with them for the war, right?

But then Eris had to go and call Morrigan a slut. 

Everything Tamlin had said about Feyre, all the snide comments about Rhys’s history. And the off hand, shitty retort about Morrigan’s clothes is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Azriel leapt for Eris, pinning Cassian into his seat with a blue shield. Karma, Nesta thought, for when Cass pinned her in place with his own. The shield morphed from there, no longer holding Cassian back, but confining Eris  _ in _ \- with a pissed Azriel. 

This place was supposed to warded against attacks - magical and physical. Clearly they needed to be stronger. Nesta sat back with her hands folded neatly on her stomach, enjoying the show. Rhysand made a pointed glance to Feyre, offering to have her command Azriel. She accepted, standing and walking over to him, bidding him to sit beside her. Nesta took the cue and scooted her chair over. Cassian didn’t bother moving his, so she just ended up sitting even closer to him. She tried her best not to look at him and focus on Feyre continuing to threaten the other lords with her new found power and authority. 

The meeting  _ actually  _ saw progress from there. Plans were  _ actually _ made. Thanks in large part to Helion reading Tamlin’s papers while everyone else was bickering. Beron switched from discrediting Feyre for her gender to discrediting Thesan’s miraculous tinkerer for her race. But his son offered her his trust in the woman, surprising most everyone. Nesta studied him. From everything she had seen of Eris today, he was a bit of a conundrum. He seemed to only be a bit bitchy, and in other regards decent… but one look at Morrigan or his  _ mother _ and there was proof that there was something darker there. 

Tamlin started up his bullshit again, this time going on about how they can have antidotes to faebane and whatnot, he’d build up what little he could of his forces again. She was honestly just tired of his nonsense now. 

“So you won’t be taking the antidote, then.” Her unamused, unafraid tone shut him up. And Helion continued the meeting. Honestly, if they win this war, it will be because of Helion, not because of them. 

“And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?” 

“It’s the queens who sold us out,” this was her domain. The human emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep any resistance,” she could only hope she sounded as disgusted with them as she felt. “They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” The realization, acceptance, and coups would take too long and be too late by the time humans were fighting for themselves again. She turned to the only true human allies in the room. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the Wall intact… many might rather risk waiting than crossing anyway.” 

Beron was the first to dismiss the concerns over humans. Feyre immediately stepped up to claim it as a concern of her court.

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron dismissed the very notion of defending humans. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”  _ Chattel. _ There it was. What Nesta was expecting, more than anything else. She read the histories, both the Fae’s and her own. She knew what they thought. The only surprise was that he was the only lord to voice it. 

Clearly Feyre was not prepared for this opinion. “You’re a coward,” she claimed. 

“The same could be said of you,” Beron retorted, even and calm. 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” 

“No- but perhaps to that girl’s family,” Beron shot a look at Nesta before looking back at Feyre. He hadn’t missed her earlier snarl. Loathsome prick was using it now. “But they’re dead, too,” he turned back to her, “aren’t they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds.” She knew, she knew he was playing them, that her reaction had opened her up for attack, that she shouldn’t heed his words. He was just trying to misdirect them out of a real argument. But just hearing it-  _ butchered and burned to death- _ and Nesta was back there, surrounded by screams, shouting for Clare. Her left hand instinctively went to her throat, to where vines had strangled her to sleep. Her fear quickly circled back around into rage. Rage at this tiny man, this fae-Tomas Mandray. How dare he use the Beddor family as an argument to not help humanity. 

Her power rose with her anger, pulled taught as Feyre’s arrows and ready to soar over the stupid fucking pond and suck the life out of that cruel man. But someone put a hand over her firing arm. Cassian’s hand took hold of the right one that had fallen at her side and gave it a good squeeze. Having to scoot over to make room for Azriel put them close enough to hide the gesture in her skirts. She glanced over at Cassian, where his eyes now met her with some level of understanding. She gripped back, as tight as she could, taking just a little bit of his strength to hold back her desires and nightmares until this damn meeting was done. 

Rhysand asked Beron straight out, “Your staggering generosity aside,  _ will _ you be joining our forces?” 

“I have not yet decided.” 

Cassian didn’t drop his hand as he made his counterpoint. “Armies take time to raise. You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.” 

Baron sneered at him, “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.” 

Nesta felt his hand tighten on hers so hard it almost hurt. But she kept her iron grip on him as she responded to Beron. “That  _ bastard  _ may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.” She didn’t break her eye-contact with this pedigreed little shit, daring him to dismiss Cassian again, to refer to humans as  _ chattel _ in her presence again.

Beron changed strategies, deciding to make a similar argument to Tamlin, albeit minus the conspiracy theories. Where Tamlin kept insisting that Rhysand was the truest mastermind, Beron mocked his sacrifices. He purposefully fanned the flame of the Night Court’s greatest shame. Cassian was vibrating with rage, every part of him begging to be allowed to launch across the room and tear Beron’s flesh from his face. Nesta held firm, holding him back.  _ He’s a small man.  _ She said to him through her grip.  _ He wants to provoke you into anger because he can. Look at his wife. Look how she holds herself. If she can get through hundreds of years with him, we can survive a meeting.  _

“Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his-” Beron didn’t get to finish the horrible sentence before Feyre shot fire at him. 

The Autumn court was on their feet in an instant, but they didn’t do a damn thing as Feyre followed up her flame with a prison of water. That display had all the other High Lords, and all the members of her party - on their feet. Rhysand immediately tried to stop his wife from killing for him, but Nesta just settled back and watched. Feyre was Feyre after all. Everything is an insult and every insult is unforgivable. 

Nesta watched as the High Lords realized they had each given her sister power when they gave her life. Amren had explained it to her when they were discussing the Wall. It was what made her power so interesting to look at, Nesta noted. It was so clear because it was all of them at once. She noted each of their responses. Beron was currently being drowned, but she assumed he’d be pissed about it. Thesan was definitely pissed. Kallias seemed confused. Tarquin seemed to be understanding, and Helion? Helion looked as though someone just gave him a brand new subject to study. 

Could be worse. 

Rhysand got Feyre to drop her attacks and Beron immediately shot flames at them. The shield Cass, Az, Mor, and Nesta put up were all useless as Rhysand got one larger and further out to catch it. 

Helion sat down first, commenting about how he knew he lost the power, but wasn’t sure where, setting the tone for any of the pissier High Lords who might be mad about it. Again, Nesta thought that if they pulled this off, it would be because of that High Lord.  _ Why couldn’t  _ **_this one_ ** _ be my brother-in-law? _

Feyre noticed Lady Autumn’s injury. The burn could have been from either Feyre or her husband, and from how little pain showed on her face, she was accustomed to the burn. Nesta wished that Beron had died in that ball of water and light. “I’m sorry,” Feyre said to her, shocking her to look up. 

“Don’t talk to her, you human filth.” Rhysand magically bitch-slapped Beron so hard for that comment his chair disintegrated. 

Beron scrambled to his feet, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.” 

_ Oh no.  _ “This meeting is  _ not _ over.”  _ I did not sit through all of Tamlin’s insanity for you to leave before I speak.  _ Nesta let her own power flare, just a little, just enough for him to remember his shield was broken by Rhysand and he was unusually vulnerable and might want to shut the fuck up and listen. “You are all there is,” she looked away from him to the rest of the lords assembled, “You are all that there is between everything good and decent.” She turned back to Beron with an honest question. “You fought against Hybern in the last war,”  _ when you had more to lose and nothing to gain, _ “Why do you refuse to do so now?”

He did not answer. But he did not leave. His morally-confusing son motioned for his brothers to sit. Nesta took a moment, choosing her words very carefully, pulling from what she had observed here today, and what she knew of history, and what her mother had beaten into her. “You may hate us. I  _ don’t care _ if you do. But I do care when you let innocents suffer and die. At least... stand for them,” she waited until Beron’s eyes began to roll before dropping the bomb that would actually get his attention. “ _ Your people _ . For Hybern will make an example of them, of all of us.” 

Beron jerked his chin up as he asked his question. “How do you know?”  _ Gotcha, bitch.  _

“I went into the Cauldron. It showed me his heart. He will bring down the Wall, and butcher those on either side of it.” A complete lie, but an honest guess. She turned to the Winter Court, to appeal to a country of childless parents. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one abhorrent. But beneath the Wall, I witnessed children- entire families - starve to death.” To Tarquin, alone with one ally. “Were it not for my sister… I would be among them.” To the room at large, still reeling from what Amaranthra did to them, “Too long, for too long have humans beneath the Wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that-” Nesta had to stop herself from saying  _ bitch, _ “queen’s reign. But long before. If you fight for anything, fight  _ now, _ to protect those you forgot. Let them know they are not forgotten. Just this once.”    
  


Theson, ever neutral, gave a diplomatic answer. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

“The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children, Fae  _ or _ human, are harmed.”  _ There, give me a painfully neutral answer, get a response you can’t disagree with without being pro-child endangerment _ . “You have been entrusted with protecting this land,” Nesta looked to all of them, appealing to their status as High Lords, hoping they take honor in their duties to their lands as much as she once did. “How can you not fight for it?” 

“I shall consider it.” 

_ From “may Hybern destroy you” to “consider it,” I’ll take it.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas y'all. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, Merry Update!
> 
> Check out the art I referenced for the Dawn Court: https://i.imgur.com/KSamJt1.jpg
> 
> This meeting is so long and it's 30% Tim-tam going QAnon on Rhysand. Holy shit.  
> But- rereading it to write this, I finally get all the Helion/Nesta shippers, there's no evidence for it, but it would be a fun dalliance to see. I hope we get more of him in silver flames (I hope he propositions Nessian)


	43. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best about political meetings are the after-shocks, I mean parties.

The meeting dragged on, and it was exhausting. With Beron gone and Tamlin neutered, the game of hurling insults and wild accusations was done for good this time. While the pressure of knowing who was or wasn’t going to ally with them was gone, the headache of debating how they would function as allies had just begun. 

After she got Beron to at least consider fighting with them, she was drained. It didn’t help that the first part of the meeting involved the constant swell and suppression of her power. With Amren, the power was always being called for shielding. Today was the first time she let it out of the box for show or to contemplate a genuine offense. It was only fascination over the details and sheer determination that kept her going for the next three hours of discussions.

The power continued to gurgle quietly in her bones, restless and disappointed in its own neglect. Open as she was in front of the HIgh Lords, she couldn’t risk the tell of the careful meditation it would take to tend to and calm it. Instead she was left restraining it by force for the rest of the meeting as it continued to push against her. She felt like she had spent three hours flexing every muscle in her body to hold it in, because she had. 

When they finally, blessedly, broke for the day, she had but one concern. Get to a private room, close her eyes, breath, and slowly soothe the power back into her walls. Upon seeing her chambers - a room with no bed, but covered with stacks of cushions and pillows- she practically whimpered with relief. 

Neta let herself fall back into the delicious clouds of pink and gold, landing cozily- if less than gracefully on her rear. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her arms on them. She let her head fall forward and her neck go slack. Completely curled up, completely alone, she dove inward. 

She let a mental hand touch the quivering well of power and splashed her whole consciousness into it, free-floating in the turbulent waters. It wanted to drown her, like the Cauldron tried, attempting to thrash her about, but she held still, meeting its frustration and anger with her own calm command.  _ You are mine, _ she ordered.  _ You do not stir until I will it. _ Slowly, but surely, the powers around her calmed, spreading out to the edges of their vessel. When there was no longer a risk of bursting, she let go, allowing herself to float up through the darkness and back to herself. 

That’s when a small spark of silver-white light interrupted her path. This tiny speck of power was different from the sea surrounding her. It didn’t feel as though it had come from the Cauldron. It felt… warm, kind, protecting. Even as it frantically danced around her, butting into her, it held none of the contemptuous wrath of the Cauldron. This wasn’t a wish to be used or to destroy, but a desperate bid for attention. It was trying to warn her. What it was warning her about, she had no idea. There was something familiar about it. She bade it to come with her, to join in her being out of the abyss of power, where she may manifest it and feel its truth unobscured. But as she broke the surface of her power, it disappeared, and she was once again in a beautiful, soft chamber. And it was the last place she needed to be.

_ Something is wrong _ . Her power had never tried to warn her like that, but it was unmistakable.  _ Not here. _ The cushions and their ethereal plushness now felt horridly indulgent.  _ We need to be somewhere else.  _ The rose-hue of the room was suddenly red with menace.  _ Danger is nigh. _

_ And I don’t know what it is. _

The sound of chatter came from outside her door, Rhysand and Feyre and the others talking lightly in the main sitting room of their suite. Nesta rolled up to her feet, stepping carefully around the cushions. _. _ Whatever she was feeling, she needed to warn the others first before swimming through an ocean to try and find one errant sea bubble once more. 

They were all in the sitting room, with an additional member that seemed more friendly to them than he had initially let on in the meeting - based on how relaxed Morrigan and Cassian were on the couch across from him. Helion’s body language now matched his build and laugh lines. He was the portrait of relaxed hedonism, appraising her with a blend of shrewd intelligence and genuine seduction that under different circumstances might have befuddled her. 

“I don’t think we were properly introduced earlier, I’m-” 

“I don’t care,” Nesta dismissed the games this male was trying to set up. She didn’t have time for them right now, and certainly didn’t have the time to try and piece together how open they could be with him. She went right to Feyre, “I’d like a word.  _ Now.” _

Feyre motioned back to Nesta’s room and led the way. “What is it?” she asked as soon as the door was closed. This room was still so… wrong. As thought it was the opposite of where they needed to be. 

“We need to leave. Right now.” 

“Why?” A fair question, given the circumstances. 

“It feels wrong. Something feels wrong,” she could find another way to voice what she was feeling, what her instincts were screaming at her. 

“Rhys and the others would sense it. You’re likely just picking up on all the power gathered here.” Feyre was either blindly loyal to her mate’s ego or really thought so little of Nesta’s instincts. But Nesta persisted. 

“Something is  _ wrong. _ ” 

“I”m not doubting you feel that way, but if none of the others are picking it up-” 

“I am not  _ like _ the others,” Nesta practically hissed the words.  _ How do you, of all people, not understand that? _ “We need to leave.”

“I can send you back to Velaris, but we have things to discuss here-” 

“I don’t care about me, I-” Nesta shut her mouth when the door opened, not wanting her warning to travel to parties unknown. She looked behind her as Cassian entered. He must have felt her worry, either through the bond Nesta was trampling on with her foot or through his observations of her behavior in the foyer. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“She senses something is off- says that we need to leave right away.” 

Nesta figured Feyre had summarized the gist of it fairly well, but Cassian kept his eyes on Nesta, asking her for more information. “What, precisely, feels wrong?” There was no condensation or assumption, this was Cassian, the general, heeding a warning and trying to eek out more information about a new and unknown threat.

She hated that she had no concrete information to give him. “It feels like there’s this… dread. This sense that…” she could not say something is wrong again. She tried to focus on that spark, tried to remember where she’d felt its echo before, but nothing came. “That I forgot something but can’t remember what.” 

She knew she wasn’t making sense. But there was no way to make sense of it. It was all echoes and inaudible whispers and  _ feelings _ . How do you describe that a place she found gorgeous and inviting not a second ago was menacing and wrong now? She couldn’t voice  _ why _ , just that it  _ was. _

But to unending surprise and relief, he simply nodded and said, “I’ll tell Rhys.” 

Cassian gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before heading off to do exactly as he said. He must have done it through Rhysand’s telepathy, because within moments the High Lord of Night was vocalizing the warnings to Morrigan and Helion, and giving orders to Azriel to search the castle. The Illyrians then spent thirty minutes searching the grounds and their surroundings while Nesta sat with Feyre and the others. 

The restless feeling persisted as Nesta sat next to her sister. She couldn’t focus on any one thing for more than a moment, couldn’t keep her hands still as they fidgeted around her. Feyre provided regular updates while they waited, but no one spoke otherwise, not until they knew it was clear. Morrigan sat straighter, watching exits, palming a knife she kept strapped to her upper thigh. Helion sat with them in silent observation, not watching the exits or the room, but keeping his gaze on Nesta. The lazy heat from earlier was gone, leaving only the shrewd male trying to solve the puzzle of her power. Perhaps buried somewhere deep in his Court’s libraries he had come across a book that explained what happens when you drop a vindictive mortal in the source of all known magic against her will.

When the three returned with no news, only reports of peace- here  _ and _ in Velaris, Nesta deflated. Feyre had tried to take her hand, to offer words of comfort. “I feel it sometimes, too,” she offered. Nesta looked at her. Maybe Feyre, with her own unique power, also had experiences like this. “The memories of terrible things can be… very difficult to shake.” 

Nesta wrenched her hand away from her sister. Nesta was  _ intimately _ familiar with the terror of being lost in your own worst memories. It was what woke her from sleep more often than not. But this  _ wasn’t  _ that. They were in the wrong place, far away from where they needed to be. But with no information on why or where they  _ should _ be, it was easier to let the matter drop for now. Better to sit through dinner and refuel with them now so she could search for that spark later. 

Cassian did not sit next to Nesta at dinner - not for lack of trying. She opted to not take her usual seat beside Feyre- feeling more than a little annoyed at her sister- and sat instead to Azriel’s right. When Cass made to take the empty seat on her opposite side, he only found that Helion had beaten him to the punch. A blind man could see the aggravation cross Cassian’s expression as he redirected to the other side of the table and took a seat beside Morrigan. 

Sitting between Azriel and Helion was a bit of a surreal experience, and a shockingly dissonant distraction from Nesta’s persisting sense of foreboding. Cassian was mad that Helion stole his seat, Azriel was mad that Morrigan ignored him to flirt with Helion, and Helion seemed equally interested in flirting with all of them - including Nesta. 

“It is remarkable how every member of the Night Court is so  _ beautiful _ ,” he smiled to them all. Morrigan smiled back with some nonsense about it taking one to know one, Azriel made no expression, and Cassian just zeroed in on the smile in Nesta’s direction. 

Nesta took a bite of dinner. 

“Were you this beautiful before you were Made?” he asked Nesta. Cassian and Morrigan tightened. Azriel seemed to still, waiting to see how she would respond. 

Nesta took a minute to finish chewing her food and swallowed. She turned her glance up to him. “You’d do better asking someone else’s opinion. I didn’t receive your kind’s sense of vanity with my immortality.” A sly way of getting out of saying how much she hated her new perfect appearance. 

Helion chuckled, “I see Rhys still values wit in his court members above all else.” 

“It’s the only way to tamp down his ego,” Morrigan quipped, drawing attention to herself. She nodded to Nesta. “She had the beauty and the bite as a human, too.” 

“A trait you share,” Helion raised his goblet to Morrigan, offering her a more inviting look than the one he offered Nesta. Maybe because he knew she was the only one of them who wanted it. Meanwhile Azriel’s shadows slithered dejectedly around his ankles. Nesta took another bite. 

_ Not my circus, not my monkeys.  _

Kallias and Viviane joined them after the first course, bringing even more levity with them. Viviane immediately found a seat next to Morrigan - because she’d forced Cassian to move over - and the two of them delved into happy gossip of the past decades. With Morrigan’s conversational attention elsewhere, Helion focused more on Nesta. 

“What fashions are popular in the human lands? It has been an age since I last visited.” 

She nodded to his outfit over her goblet. “Chitons fell out of favor along with Alkanes, you’d do better in a frock and breeches.” 

A glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. “Alkanes was a favorite territory- before the Wall. A pity they did not last after it - not long, anyway.” Mischief danced in his grin, “Perhaps they were the best case for keeping things as they once were.” 

  
Day had been one of the late converts to the human alliance in the War, convinced after lengthy appeals by Drakon and Morrigan. Perhaps that conversion was less about the morality of the situation and more the preservation of power from Hybern. 

“Perhaps the Alkanians would have remained on that infertile island if their libraries did.” Alkanian ruins and records spoke of countless libraries - temples of knowledge and learning - and it confused historians to no end that there was no trace of such buildings on the island. After Amren’s little revelation about spells, Nesta was making a fair guess that the Fae had taken their libraries with them when the Wall went up. 

“How were we supposed to access our own tomes if we left them below the Wall?” He asked innocently. The duplication spell he managed on those documents in the meeting came to mind, but shadow tugged lightly on her skirt. A warning from the spy-master next to her not to piss off an ally too much.

But feeling for more information wouldn’t be pissing him off, would it? “Isn’t that why there are holes ripped into the Wall? To allow Fae to come and go as they please?” 

“I’ll admit I don’t know why there are holes in the Wall. Being so far north, we have been content to leave its management to Spring,” something sad passed over the sunny High Lord’s face. “I wasn’t even aware how many holes there were until Amaranthra started sending her dogs.” 

Decimated villages, missing people, fires with no cause… Amaranthra’s raiding parties had their fill of fun during her reign. 

Kallias jumped into the conversation. “The other Courts were likewise surprised. We knew Tamlin had an emissary who often passed through the Wall and kept tabs on the humans, but we had no idea how many opportunities there were for crossings. Most of us had moved on from any interest in their affairs.” He mused quietly for a second. “That girl was the first human I’d seen since the Wall.” 

Rhysand called away his attention after that, asking something about his city and their repairs. Viviane and Morrigan squealed loudly about something Nesta didn’t pay attention to. As their volume increased, Helion kept his smile at them, but whispered to Nesta. “I take it you knew the girl.” The noise, the discomfort, the feeling of unreasonable wrongness clamoured around and into her. “Beron is a bastard for trying to use her memory like that.” 

Nesta stood faster than was appropriate, causing her chair to scrape noisily against the ground. This was a long day. This was a wrong place. The meetings were done. Only friends remained. She didn’t need to stay and listen or engage. With the curtest of goodbyes, she headed back to her room.

Nesta found a smooth piece of wall, devoid of furniture, and sat against it. She relaxed back into her curled meditation, diving back into her own abyss in hopes of finding that singular spark. If she could just find it, grasp it, she could study it, maybe have a better feel for the impending doom. Maybe she could report back with a place to look. Dinner continued on for hours while she searched. The gentle hum of conversation outside her door serving as an anchor point, a way to go deeper without getting lost. When it faded into whispers and silence, she, too, had to give up her search, come back to her own. 

Nesta leaned her head back against the wall of her room, now only visible through the soft moonlight, sighing in frustration and failure. 

“Welcome back.” 

She jumped at the voice, unaware of when or how Cassian had come into her room. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Rescuing you,” he answered, extending a hand. She was about to ask from what, and then something loud hit the wall behind her -from the room next door. 

“What the fu-” Another loud thump interrupted her, and this time it hit the wall with enough force Nesta was actually thrown off it slightly. 

“Morrigan and Helion,” he explained with a wry smile. “Dawn doesn’t have the sound-proofing we have at home. Come on. We have booze.” Nesta took another look at her at the wall behind her with a grimace and took Cassian’s hand, not even asking who “we” was. 

* * *

Cassian flew Nesta up above their suite, landing on the roof of the tower some 300 ft up from their bedroom where Azriel was already sitting. It clearly wasn’t meant to be used as a hide-away, it was just a roof that happened to flare out enough that it could be comfortably sat on. But that’s what made it perfect. Not even the peregryns on patrol would spot them here, yet they could see all of them. The location was close enough to the others to allow them to keep watch, while being far enough away that they weren’t assaulted by the sounds of raucous love-making. 

They touched down gently, just a few feet from Azriel’s perch. 

“Careful,” Cassian warned, keeping a grip on her hand and side. 

“I’m fine. I heard there was alcohol.” 

Without so much as a word Azriel held up a yellow bottle of what she assumed to be a native Dawn liquor. Despite everything about today, she smiled slightly as she stepped confidently over and took the bottle, gracefully sitting beside him, dangling her feet off of the edge, and taking a swig. This was not her first time drinking on a roof- hell her first  _ drink _ was on a roof. The liquor hit her tongue with odd crispness, bubbling in her mouth and before smoothly going down. She would have preferred something burning, less delightful, but she drank it all the same. 

Cassian sat down next to her. “And here I thought you hated heights.” He reached out for the bottle. Nesta took another swig before handing it over. 

“I hated being thrown around at dizzying speeds after being pressured by everyone to eat more to replenish my strength.” She snatched the bottle back with her comment, handing it to Azriel. 

“Rhys enjoys adventurous flying more than the average Illyrian,” Azriel explained. 

“And he’s an ass.” 

“That, too,” he conceded, taking a sip. Azriel was always calm and unreadable. He seemed to be an impartial observer among his friends. So seeing him now visibly on edge was highly unusual. 

“You snapped first,” she commented to him. 

“It was a rough meeting,” Cassian answered. 

“It was Morrigan,” she made it sound like a question, ignoring Cass to get Azriel to talk. She had seen how he stood by her after the Hewn City. How he defended her at the meeting, how he acted at dinner. He could use a shield to drown out the noise while he slept if he wanted - Amren enjoyed scolding Nesta for failing to be able to do so herself. But he chose to hide away up here. 

“We’re not fans of our friends getting attacked,” again, Cassian attempted to cover for him. 

“Eris’s comment was hardly the worst attack thrown in that meeting.” 

“No, but it came  _ from _ Eris,” Azriel finally answered, passing the alcohol back. 

“There’s a history there, then.” 

“Not our story to tell,” Cassian took the bottle from her.  _ Fair enough.  _ Silence fell around them, a peaceful, boring silence. But it didn’t offer comfort. It only let the dread sink in further. Distraction - distraction would be good. 

“What are those gems?” she pointed to the red and blue stones on their arms. 

Cassian seemed surprised, but he answered. “I would have thought they mentioned it in your books. They are our siphons. They help Illyrians control and harness our power.” 

“The books liked to gloss over the descriptions of  _ lesser _ fae.” Both of them grunted in response, used to such nonsense by now. 

“Question for a question.” She turned to Azriel, inclining her head and waiting as a show of agreement to his proposal. “Did glamours ever work on you?” 

She felt Cassian’s surprise at the question, but kept looking at Az. “No.” She reached back for the bottle and took her sip before passing it back to Azriel. 

“How did you all meet?” 

He took his swig before answering. “We grew up together. Rhys’s mom had a habit of adopting strays. First Cass, and then me. We met Mor and Amren through Rhysand later.” He tossed the bottle over her head to Cassian. “Why’d you sleep with her?” Nesta could only assume he didn’t mean Amren. 

Cass tensed. “519 years and you finally ask me that,” he said carefully, and then he sighed. “Because I was 17, she asked me to, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He paused a moment. “It wasn’t. And we haven’t since.” 

Some part of Nesta felt like she should be jealous over this little tidbit of information. Especially after seeing them so close physically just a few hours ago, but it was tied to the  _ thing _ that snapped into place that she was actively suppressing and suffocating under her foot. “Why not?” she asked, convincing herself it was to only satisfy her curiosity.

He looked up at Az, as if that was part of the reason, but said, “She only asked me in the first place because I was a low-born orphan bastard that was guaranteed to piss off Kier.” Morrigan hurt him, Nesta realized. She had used him to piss off her dad and the reasons why were an insult. Perhaps that’s why she was so quick to anger at Nesta’s insults.

But it also wasn’t lost on her that Cass was being extra considerate of Azriel. “Are you in love with her?” she asked the spy-master. 

“She’s my best friend.” It was his only answer. 

“Your turn,” Cassian handed her the bottle, she took it, knowing from the look in his eye that this night of heavy questions was bound to continue. “How did you know Clare Beddor?” 

Nesta looked into the rim of the bottle, noting how the gold reflected the moonlight. “She was  _ my  _ best friend and I loved her.” She took a swig. “I was going to marry her one day.” She had never said the words out loud before. And maybe it was because she had just dreamed about her, or maybe it was because so many awful people had brought her up today, only focusing on the horrible last moments, or maybe it was because this was a night to spill your heart about failed relationships. Nesta kept talking. “She was the first person I met after our family lost everything. Her own family didn’t have much, but they were tailors, and they made sure we had clothes on our backs, selling them to us for almost nothing.” She smiled down at the memory of the first winter when they had no money, when Clare not-so-subtly showed Nesta to a rack of cloaks that were “on sale. Nesta took another drink. A gentle weight settled on her shoulders. In the corner of her eye, she could see Cassian’s wing had expanded to envelope her. “She had such a sharp sense of humor. She wasn’t afraid to enjoy herself, her life. Goodness knows why she put up with me.”

She rubbed her eyes to keep herself from crying. Time to change the subject before she actually did. “What’s Helion’s deal?” 

Cassian let her keep the bottle as he answered. “He’s horny for everything that moves, annoyingly shrewd, and somehow still seems to be a decent fellow.” He didn’t move his wing from her back.

“He’s been allied with us for centuries now,” Azriel explained. 

They carried on their little game through the night, getting slightly tipsy, but not quite fully drunk. The booze she thought was liquor was distinctly  _ not _ hard liquor, but more mild, with similar alcohol content to wine. “We  _ are  _ on duty!” Cassian feigned offense when she finally asked about it. But it was still… nice. Their conversation swung between heavy and light, with topics from how Azriel figured out Elain was a seer (this led to a tangent about his shadowsinging) to why human clothes had so many  _ layers _ to Cass’s childhood before Rhysand.

When the grey of pre-dawn began to shine, Nesta commented that it was probably time to go back to their rooms, unless they wanted to answer questions about where they were all night. 

“You’re right, but,” Azriel gently held her arm and pointed to the horizon, “you should see Dawn’s dawn, first.” 

The sun began to peek over the horizon and the world became alight with soft yellows and pastel pinks. The red roofs of the villages below reflected their colors on the clouds, painting the sky a mix of the palest blue and most vibrant red. 

She really wished she could have appreciated the view. 

But as she watched the new day dawn, an old sailor’s adage rumbled into her mind.  _ Red sky at morning… _

* * *

Azriel got her back to her room just as Feyre opened the door to check on her, his lady missing him by a hair. 

“New look today,” Nesta nodded down to Feyre’s shimmering black number, the opposite of the gemstone dress from the day before. 

Her sister shrugged off the observation. “How are you feeling this morning?” 

She took a breath. A night of drinking and talking had helped distract from the nagging sensation of wrongness, but it hadn’t ever gone away. Cassian had even asked about it, but there wasn’t more information to give. She gave him the same words she now gave Feyre. “Something is still wrong, but I can’t figure out what.” 

“We’ll leave immediately after the meeting.” It was the best the High Lady could offer. Nesta nodded and shooed her sister from the room as she began to redo her hair. They had all agreed that the only person who couldn’t know what they were doing last night was Feyre. Her sister had, in her short tenure, shown herself to be a remarkable busybody that  _ absolutely _ would jump to conclusions about the nature of their relationship. Hell, she was already trying to encourage Elain and Azriel, despite the former having a mate and a fiance, and the latter involved in a messy centuries-long, pining,  _ thing. _

Today’s meeting was in the same location as the last one. And it seemed everyone except Nesta and her drinking buddies had a change of clothes. Actually, she noted as she saw Azriel’s cuff did not have Eris’s singe-mark, that they had changed… into identical outfits. She huffed. No one told her it was going to be multiple days. How was she supposed to know to bring multiple outfits? Where had they kept them? 

Helion opened the meeting, having, either before or after banging Mor all night,  _ thoroughly _ reviewed all of Tamlin’s information. 

“ _ And _ ?” From the Spring lord’s pissy tone, today was going to be another headache. 

“ _ And _ ,” Helion responded, also clearly done with his attitude, but ready to move forward with their business. “If you can rally your forces quickly, you and Tarquin might be able to hold the front line long enough for those of us above the Middle to bring larger hosts.” 

“It’s not that easy-” Tamlin began his response but Nesta did not hear the rest of it. The white spark flared in her eye, and the comforting warmth finally reminded Nesta where exactly she had felt it before. When it held her foot and then her body. When it pet her head lovingly as Ianthe carried her into Prythian. 

She shot to her feet as the last words the Wall said to her echoed in her head. 

_ It’s time. I’m sorry. Good bye. _

And then the Cauldron’s power  _ surged, _ rolling and thrashing as it felt its sisters work. Nesta used every piece of her focus and training to hold it in, to keep it from gushing forth to join its brethren in destruction. She felt the hands on her, the attention from the room as they tried to figure out why she was suddenly keeling over and vomiting from effort. But she managed to hold it in, to command it down long enough to give a final warning. 

It exhausted her to the point of bonelessness. She wasn’t sure when she ended up in Morrigan’s arms but the woman wasn’t pushing her away, even as the iron pin in Nesta’s hair dug uncomfortably into her shoulder. They were all still worried about her, still focused on her when danger was elsewhere. She could barely get in breaths, but she managed to form words. 

“Something is wrong. Not with me. Not me.”

The momentary blip in her focus on controlling the Cauldron’s power was a mistake. It surged again and she pushed off Morrigan, collapsing to the floor as she vomited again from the strain. Her hands slapped against the cold marble as the spark from the Wall blinked out of her, out of existence. 

She didn’t need to listen as Rhysand explained what happened. She already knew. It was too late. They wasted too much time. 

The Wall has fallen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love, love, the chapters where I can wholesale make shit up. Like, for instance, Feyre saying that she doesn't know and won't even ask where Az and Cass were all night, allowing me to have Az, Cass, and Nesta sit on a roof drinking Truly and complaining about dead relationships. Love that. 
> 
> God I hope we actually get a three way friendship in the next book. 
> 
> I was gonna have more Cass and Nesta tension in her room, but I like the idea that Cass wanted to keep an eye on both of them so he sacrificed intimacy for friendship.


	44. Fiancées

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wall is down and it's time to consider counter-measures

Amren and Elain were waiting for them in the foyer when they winnowed back. One looked pissed. The other… 

Elain pulled Nesta into a crushing hug. No words of comfort were given, they would just make her feel worse. All that time wasted, waiting. Why didn’t they go directly to the Wall? Why didn’t she ask to start training the moment she emerged from the Cauldron? 

“We should have evacuated months ago,” Nesta finally said out loud. The first words anyone had said since they were forced to sit around the dining room table and pretend like any of them would be eating today. It was a mistake to leave everyone down there, to depend on her finally doing something  _ right _ . 

“We can go to your estate tonight- evacuate the households and bring them back here.” 

She couldn’t think of a single one of the 12 tenant families who would ever come to Prythian. Maybe somewhere in the southern continents? No, Rhysand was right with his denial of that request. They couldn’t just drop them somewhere without any support structure. They would all want to take their extended families and friends with them. That was the point. They purposefully targeted members from the largest, most loyal, and most beloved households. 

That was the plan. All of their residents and their loved ones would form a chain that encompassed most of the town. 

Elain leveled her gaze to Nesta. “We could move them to Graysen’s estate.” 

That was the plan. But it was dependent on Elain’s marriage - on her ability to convince her new family to open their gates to all who needed it. But there is no marriage now. There wouldn’t be. Without it, there was no guarantee the Edessa’s would take in their tenants or the townsfolk. Graysen would, probably, but Old Man Nolan was a mean cunt. He might let them all die if it meant he could last another minute in this war. He certainly would never open up on a Fae’s request. 

“I can speak to him,” Elain offered.

“No-” _ -lan would kill you. _ But Nesta didn’t get to even finish his name. Elain plowed ahead, setting her strategy on the table for them all. 

“If-if you,” she looked to Feyre, “and they,” she looked to the rest, “come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs.” 

“You’re Fae, too,” Nesta said. Elain did not look human anymore. Even if her scent was obscured by the others, there was no way to disguise- 

“Glamour me,” Elain looked to Rhysand, speaking more confidently, now. “Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards around the estate.” 

“This could end very badly, Elain,” Feyre warned. 

“It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” It occurred to Nesta that none of the Court had ever seen this side of Elain before. Elain had always planned on fighting in this war. Not with weapons, but with that beautiful mind of hers. She had once turned down Graysen’s proposal for it. She was, more than anyone else, ready to do what needs done to win it. 

But that didn’t mean Nesta had to let her. 

Feyre tried to stop Elain at the same time Nesta made her offer. “I can go - let me talk to him.” She  _ was _ the Emissary to the Human lands. She knew Nolan, too. And Graysen. 

Elain dismissed her younger sister first. “He doesn’t know you.” Then she smiled at Nesta, “and he hates you.” 

That surprised her. Despite everything, despite thinking Nolan was the biggest cunt on the island,  _ I always thought he kind of liked me.  _

Elain went off to dress, denying Nesta’s offer to help. Elain didn’t need her to be her caretaker anymore. She was going to do this on her own. Pride swelled in Nesta’s chest, met with more than a few pricks of guilt and an overwhelming feeling of  _ uselessness.  _ If the High Lord Meeting was done, and the Wall was down, and Elain was better, and she was going to negotiate with the Edessas…

“What do I do now?” 

“You come with us.” Nesta looked up to her sister. “To Graysen’s estate, then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.” 

It wasn’t exactly a demanding job, but it was  _ something _ she could do to help. Nesta nodded. She’d come along then. To the warfront. 

Cassian approached them then, coming back from discussing the movement of the Illyrian troops with Rhysand. He stopped and frowned at both their clothing. “Dresses aren’t good for flying, ladies.” It wasn’t his teasing, this was him trying to make his life easier. Whoever was carrying them - carrying her- couldn’t afford to use two hands to keep her skirts closed. They would need to be able to fight if needed. She knew that, but still… 

“No barking and biting today?” 

“I’ve never worn pants.”  _ Ladies _ wore dresses. 

“I have no doubt you’d start a riot if you did.” His casual disregard to all of the rules she was raised to live by was infuriating and frustrating. On the one hand, he didn’t care - none of them cared - if she was a lady or not. On the other, what the hell was she if she wasn’t? It’s all she knew how to be. She certainly wasn’t good - or even capable- at being anything else. She couldn’t deal with this now, couldn’t have these thoughts here. If she was going to hyperventilate over the implications of wearing pants, it was better to do it in private. 

But as she tried to push around Cassian, a startlingly warm - if calloused - hand impacted her forehead. The sudden shock of the forehead strike wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t gentle either. Just enough to be annoying, just enough to jolt her from her thoughts. She shook her head and glared at him for an instant before making to leave again. But this time his hand jolted out to grip her wrist. She tried to pull out of it, but he held firm until she finally turned and looked up at him for more than a second. 

“Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” all playfulness, all levity, all misdirection was gone from his voice, “and you kill them.”  _ He’s not going _ , she realized. Slowly, he lifted her hand and pressed the black leather hilt of a steel dagger into it. “Ash can kill you now.”  _ This is him fulfilling his promise. _ She turned up to him, focusing on his every word as he tried to give her some of his knowledge. What ash wounds feel like. What and who to take note of in a dangerous situation. Where to strike. 

He folded her fingers around the dagger, slightly adjusting her grip as he did so. “Aim for the soft parts,” he instructed, moving the point of her dagger to his neck and under his ribs. His hands were shaking around hers as he moved on to the next lesson. “And if someone gets you into a hold, stomp the inside of their foot. Throw your arms forward and jut out your lower body back. Don’t stop there, turn and finish them. Use your elbows, they are stronger than your fists. Come back swinging, break the nose, the jaw.” He smiled ever so slightly, “the groin is also a good target.” He stepped back from her as he finished his lesson, holding his hands up in apology. Not for showing her what he did, but for holding in her place. 

Nesta studied the dagger again. She didn’t know weapons, but she could tell that this was a good one. It felt good in her hands. Dangerous. Lethal. Like him. 

She clenched her fist around it- just as he showed her - and turned up to him. “I told you to come to training,” he smiled, back to his usually cocky self, as though that would erase the weight of the last ten minutes. She watched him go, considering despite herself - and not for the first time, that the bond between them might not be a bad thing. 

She caught Feyre’s excited stare, saw the questions and expectations in her eyes. Nesta put her finger up, “Don’t even start,” and headed upstairs to see if there was sheath somewhere in her closet. 

* * *

In her defense, Nesta did remove the pants from the dresser. But with pants on, the custom chemises - provided by Nuala- would not work. Not with the flowing skirt attached to it. Which meant Nesta would have to try on those weird bra things. And, you know what, with them going right to the Edessa estate, it was probably better to wear a dress, less jarring-for them. Save the pants for when they will be moving  _ with  _ the troops. She threw them into a trunk along with several changes of clothing to bring with them. They would not be returning to the townhouse until the war was over. Nesta tried not to think about how long that could be.

She also tried not to register the disappointment flashing in Cassian’s eyes as he saw her come down the stairs in a grey-blue wool dress and dark wool cloak. He did linger on her hip, to the brown belt resting there and the dagger attached to it. He nodded to her. Baby steps. 

Illyria was the first place Nesta had gone to since the Cauldron that felt like home. Not in a “I’m home” way, but in that it lacked the perfection of Dawn Court or the strangeness of Velaris. It was not particularly beautiful. It was cold. The sun was hidden behind ugly grey clouds. It wasn’t raining, but the air was still somehow wet. The ground was soft and muddy, any greenery long trampled over by footfall and tents. If not for the thousands of winged-fae stomping around, she would have thought it was just another miserable, average fall day and she was just in the woods near her house. 

She smiled a little bit. 

“What is  _ that, _ ” someone Nesta could only describe as a poor-man’s Cassian backed away from her. From the way the others were speaking to him, he must have been Devlon, Cassian and Azriel’s old teacher. Behind him, other Illyrians echoed the fear in his eyes, some making what had to be religious signs. Signs against the devil. While staring at  _ her. _ There have been worse reactions to her presence. 

“ _ That _ ,” Cassian took a step forward, “is none of your concern.” 

“Is she a witch.” He didn’t ask it as a question, but as an accusation. 

“Yes.” Nesta answered without thinking, before anyone else could jump in to defend her and stop her from enjoying this new game. The men behind him flinched away.  _ Oh, I  _ **_like_ ** _ Illyria. _

“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian threw a glance back, a plea to not antagonize them more, “but no, she is High Fae.” 

Devlon shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Nesta. “She is no more High Fae than we are.” She had asked once, a long time ago, what manner of creature they called Feyre. From the way they all stared at each other at a loss for words, the bullshit response she was given then was because they didn’t  _ have  _ an answer. The commander practically snarled, “Keep her away from the females and children.” 

The little chat on the roof gave Nesta a crash course in how Illyrian women and children are treated, something she was absolutely going to use to bite back at this trembling man. But Feyre sensed her wrath coming, and squeezed her arm in silent message.  _ Not now. Not with the war.  _ So Nesta held her tongue. 

It was then that Mor moved to reveal Elain. If he was displeased with one witch in his camp, two definitely pissed off Devlon. He grunted at the sight of her, and while Nesta relished the ire, Elain looked down. “Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta said to her, hoping Devlon heard the rest of the message.  _ It is us they should be afraid of. _

That seemed to be the last straw. Feyre and Morrigan ferried them into their tent before Devlon or his warlords could start getting really worried about her presence. The tent itself was very nice. 

Nicer than their old hut. The thick canvas and plush carpets kept out the cold and damp. There was furniture enough to seat ten. The desk in one corner rivaled Nesta’s old study. With the fae-light lanterns hanging around gave the space a perfect, cozy glow. If there weren’t a few thousand sexist soldiers outside, you’d think it was a little vacation. 

Morrigan sprawled out on one of the chaise - yes, in a war camp, there was a chaise lounge, “Welcome to an Illyrian war camp ladies. Try to keep your awe contained.” 

Nesta picked at the maps on the ridiculous desk. “What is the difference between a faerie and a witch?” 

“Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve. They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted, and use it for whatever their desire, good or ill.” 

_ So - I  _ **_am_ ** _ a witch, then?  _

Elain was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring up at the sky. “Will many of these soldiers die?” The vacant look spoke volumes. Was that why she wouldn’t look at them? She wasn’t afraid of them, but was afraid seeing them would show her their demise? Was she starting to see it now? 

“Yes,” Nesta answered. No point in lying to her, or hiding it. She couldn’t bring herself to say more people will die if these ones didn’t. 

No point in wasting more time, either. Morrigan sat up and offered to move forward with the glamouring. With some reassurances that it wouldn’t hurt, Mor moved her hands over Elain and glamoured her. At least, from Elain’s reaction, she was glamoured. Nesta hadn’t been sure whether or not they would work on her now. That she couldn’t see her sister now, as she once was, was a cruel twist of fate. Hearing her describe her appearance as ordinary, and not being able to see her and honestly tell her how beautiful she was, how beautiful she’s always been… It fucking hurt.

“Ladies ready?” Rhysand asked, entering the tent with Azriel behind him. They all nodded. 

* * *

The Edessa estate was exactly as Nesta remembered it. Brutal walls, iron spikes, dozens of armoured guards, barking hounds, and at the center of it all - the affordable yellow chateau. There were more people here than Nesta remembered, but with the Wall down, that was to be expected. Elain certainly wasn’t surprised at it. Having the guards draw their bows  _ at _ them was new. She even recognized one at the gate. He had wished her a happy birthday last spring. Now the stench of his fear was overpowering. 

They let the party in, but not to the main house, to the guard house just inside the gate. Between the iron door and the reinforced walls, it was intended to contain them. It would at best inconvenience them. Though the space was certainly having an effect on her sister. Feyre was sweating and fidgeting uncomfortably, standing too close to the door. She caught Nesta staring. 

“Sometimes… I have problems with small spaces.”

She had been imprisoned by an evil queen and locked up by her fiance. Not wanting to be caged again was entirely understandable. Hell, look at her. “I can’t get into a bathtub anymore. I have to use buckets.” 

Feyre looked pained at that, sparking a twinge of guilt. She wasn’t trying to make her sister feel bad, just show that she understood. But Feyre just nodded in solidarity. “When we get home, we’ll install something else for you.” 

The gesture was sweet, but the implication was sweeter. Nesta was included in her idea of home, even after everything between them. 

“Two dozen guards, and Lord Graysen and his father, Lord Nolan.” 

The moment of truth. Nesta shared a look with Feyre, her fingers curled around a phantom blade, crackling with her dark power, readying it. If they tried to attack Elain, if they fired those ashwood arrows, she unleash death on them first. Elain could hate her later, she’d live. 

But heaven help them all. When that door opened and Graysen stepped off that horse, he didn’t see a single one of them save Elain. The look on his face was relief and love and he started to step towards her when the wrinkled had of his father stopped him cold. Nolan stepped around his sun, his iron-and-ashwood cane striking the ground to punctuate his every step. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Elain stood so quickly. Too quickly. “Sir- Lord Nolan…” but she caught Graysen’s eyes again and she realized he saw her move like that, too fast. All her planning, all her shrewd wisdom would fail here, because she still loved her gallant knight. Nesta was the emissary, she would have to do her job, then.

Nesta stepped forward. “The Wall has come down.” 

Her voice captured her would-be-brother’s attention. He took her all in, and she watched as two sides battled within him, glad to see there was a fight at all. First, horror and disgust at what she’d become, and second, horror and concern for someone he considered a friend, once. 

“How.” 

“I was kidnapped,” she answered. “I was taken by the army invading these lands and turned against my will.” She hoped, dearly, that he would remember her. The woman who spent hours in the ashwood grove, who cried over the sapling he gifted her, and know that there was no way she would have chosen immortality. 

“How,” Nolan asked this time. 

“There is a Cauldron - a weapon. It grants its own power to… do such things. I was a test,” she put as much venom in that words as she could muster. “The queens betrayed their own people. Hybern, yes,  _ that _ Hybern, wants slaves again, and he acquired a very powerful source of magic to do it. The first part of his plan was allying with the queens to neutralize their armies. Turns out they are selfish enough to their people’s freedom for their immortality, even if they weren’t dumb enough to jump in without… assurances,” she gestured to herself. “The second part of the plan was tearing down the Wall that prevented his full host from crossing. And now he’s done it.”  _ And we’re fucked.  _

Nolan placed his empty hand over the one holding the top of his cane, with no other reaction or inflection, he asked of her, “And who are your other companions?” She liked negotiating with him better when he was salivating for their money. 

Feyre stepped forward. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I am High Lady of the Night Court, this is Rhysand, my m-husband.”  _ Thank the wall she didn’t say mate. _ Rhysand stepped up to join his wife and gestured behind him. Nesta kept her eyes on that shrewd old man. He recognized the name immediately. The lies and rumors they had spread, he was no doubt rewriting them into the truth now. Their sister was fae, married to fae, and that was why she was gone without a trace. 

“Our third in command, Morrigan. And our spymaster, Azriel.” 

Where Nolan was studying the powerful group of monsters in his guard house, Graysen was just looking to his would-be lady, to her apparent human form. “Elain,” he breathed. “Elain, why are you  _ with _ them?” The hateful confession she had made in that damn bedroom came to Nesta’s mind. Graysen no doubt understood that part of Elain better than even Nesta, of course he couldn’t fathom why she would be in Fae company.

“Because she is our sister. And there is no safer place for her during this war than with us.” 

Elain gave her big sister a grateful look and turned back to the young Edessa. “Graysen—we’ve come to beg you,” and with a nod to Nolan, “Both of you,” and then with her back straight, she addressed them both equally. “Open your gates to any humans who can get here. To families. With the wall down we—they believe there is not enough time for an evacuation. The queens will not send aid from the continent. But here,” Elain gestured around her, “they might stand a chance.”

Graysen zeroed in on the engagement ring on her finger, quietly staring at it, and then an angry sort of pain entered his expression. “I’d be inclined to believe you,” he looked up to meet Elain’s eyes, “if you were not lying to me with your every breath.” 

Elain looked to be on the verge of tears. “I am not, I-” 

Nolan stepped forward with a sneer, cutting off Elain. “Do you think you can come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?” Nesta and Feyre were both immediately in front of Elain. 

“We don’t care what you believe,” Rhysand spoke up, uncharacteristically, humbly, even. “We only come to ask you to help those who cannot defend themselves.“ 

“At what gain? What risk of your own?” Nolan countered. For a man who fancied himself a hero, he always could be selfish. 

To this Feyre had a counter-argument. “You have an arsenal of ash weapons. I would think the risk to us is apparent.” 

“And to your sister as well.” Nesta felt her blood run cold at the words. “Don’t forget to include her as well.” 

“Any weapon can hurt mortals.” 

“But she isn’t a mortal, is she?” Nolan sneered at Morrigan. “No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a  _ mate _ .” That word, more than any others, was said with the upmost disgust. 

Rhysand kept his calm exterior, “And who, exactly, told you this?” At least, until a stringy man with eyes full of death walked into the guardhouse. 

“I did,” Jurian held up both his hands in surrender. “I came alone. You can stop snarling.” Nesta watched him as he stopped and looked them all over, pausing to meet her gaze. She hated him, wanted to kill him for laughing at their screams, at their suffering. She wanted to light his greasy mop of hair on fire and drown him when he begged her to put it out. BUt in his eyes - that moment of clarity she had seen in that cell, a man plagued by guilt and self-hatred, that was all she saw now. He bowed his head to them, “Ladies.”

“They are no ladies.”

“Father,” Graysen tried to stop his father’s vitriol, just like he had when they first met. And just like that first dinner, Nolan ignored his son. 

“Upon his arrival, Jurian explained what had been done to you—both of you. What the queens on the continent desire.” 

Rhysand snuck back into his arrogant, almost playful tones, “And what is that?” 

Jurian threw up his arms in a shrug. “Power. Youth. The usual things.” 

“Why are you here?” Feyre asked him, but it was to Nesta and Elain he gave his answer. 

“The queens are snakes. They deserve to be butchered for their treachery,” he nodded slightly Nesta, as though he was affirming her earlier analysis on the situation. He then directed the rest of his explanation to his old allies and friends. “It took no effort on my part when Hybern sent me to woo them to our cause. Only one of them was noble enough to play the game—to know we’d been dealt a shitty hand and to play it the best she could. But when she helped you, the others found out. And they gave her to the Attor,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down in disgust. “He resurrected me to turn them to his cause, believing I had gone mad during the five hundred years Amarantha trapped me,” his jaw tightened, and he again flicked his gaze to the elder Archeron sisters. Because he understood. He, too, was brought back into a life not of his choosing. “So I was reborn, and found myself surrounded by my old enemies—faces I had once marked to kill. I found myself on the wrong side of a wall, with the human realm poised to shatter beneath it.”

It made... sense. He had given hints to her, to Elain, when they were in that cell, who betrayed them and why they were there. He had mentioned her relationship with Cassian because only the Queens could have seen it, only they could have reported it. It was curious that she was so quick to believe him. Maybe it was because he was Jurian. Maybe it was because he was never on her hit-list, she had no interest wasting time with underlings. 

He focused on Mor, voice straining, almost crying from it. “You were my friend. We fought back-to-back during some battles. And yet you believed me at first sight—believed that I’d ever let them turn me.” 

Morrigan returned with indignant defense, “You went mad with—with Clythia. It was madness. It destroyed you.” 

“And I was glad to do it,” he snapped. “I was glad to do it, if it bought us an edge in that war. I didn’t care what it did to me, what it broke in me. If it meant we could be free.”

“Honor belongs between fights of men, not monsters,” Nesta said softly, almost inaudibly, as the clearer picture of the Hero of Humanity came into focus. 

“And I have had five hundred years to think about it. While being held prisoner by my enemy. Five hundred years, Mor.” Nesta could see the real question in his words.  _ Have I not served my punishment for it enough?  _

“You played the villain convincingly enough, Jurian,” Rhys stole Jurian’s attention. 

“You should have looked. I expected you to look into my mind, to see the truth. Why didn’t you?” 

After a pregnant pause, his answer was simple enough, “Because I didn’t want to see her.”  _ Trust emotions to ruin strategy.  _

“You mean to imply that you’ve been working to help us during this?” 

“Where better to plot your enemy’s demise, to learn their weaknesses, than at their side?” Maybe it was because they all had put on an act in that throne room, maybe it was because that was Jurian - and he matched the stories she’d always read, or maybe it was because he wasn’t throwing her family’s sex life in their faces, but Nesta was inclined to believe his story. And she was inclined to believe his information about the next attack.

Rhysand sifted through his mind and nodded to Azriel. The spymaster vanished without a trace, startling Nolan and Graysen in the process. Apparently they had not gotten the memo about iron, or hadn’t realized how truly outclassed they were. But none paid attention to them. Jurian continued to give all the information he could, this time on Vassa, the missing 6th queen. 

Talk of Vassa must have reminded Elain about her own powers, and who they sent to collect her. She looked up at Graysen, speaking to him in a small voice, “I did not mean to deceive you.” 

Nolan snorted, “I find I have trouble believing that.” 

But Graysen’s answer was worse. It was a question, wrapped in horrible betrayal and devastation. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this … lie?”

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—” 

“And you are bound to some … Fae male. A High Lord’s son,” the disgust built with every word. 

Elain nodded every so slightly, “His name is Lucien.”

Graysen, for the first time in their acquaintance, snapped. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means  _ nothing _ . “It means nothing,” she was near tears already, but Elain tried to explain was she had quietly told Lucien, “I don’t care who decided it or why they did—” 

“You belong to him.”  _ Belong to-?  _

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.” 

He became stone. “I don’t want it.” It was horrible to watch. But it was the end.  _ Let it be the end _ , Nesta thought. She knew this was going to be his response, Elain had known it, too. It was ugly, but there was never a world where this wasn’t. She was honestly a little grateful that his rejection was so clear, it would completely release Elain of any false hope. With Feyre taking over the conversation, changing topics back to the war, back to the people, they could be finished here in less than an hour. They could go back to a tent, and Elain could mourn the relationship for good.

Feyre and Rhysand tried to convince Nolan to accept their help, but it was Jurian who sealed the deal with good old-fashioned shaming. Helpful that Nolan fancied himself Jurian’s heir, of course he would listen to his life-long hero. 

More calmly than Nesta had ever seen him, Nolan conceded. “I do not pretend to have a large army. Only a considerable unit of soldiers. If what you say is true,” he threw a look at his son, still seething next to him. “We will take them. Whoever can make it.” Nesta nodded to him. He was a mean old cunt, but you had to admire his dedication to his convictions. With how quickly he acquiesced… perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he was always going to offer sanctuary, he just didn’t want to do it on some fae’s terms. She would remake her list, of all the families and how to reach them. It would be the most efficient way of getting to everyone. He would take it. He might be an ass about it, but he would take it. 

She was so focused on the old man that she found herself startled when Graysen hissed at her sister. “Take that ring off.” 

Hurt and angry, Elain tightened her hands into fists and denied him. “No.” 

“Take. It. Off.” 

“That’s enough, boy, let it go,” Nolan tried to calm his son, only to be wholly ignored.  _ Ironic _ . Elain and Graysen were too engrossed in their ugly staring match. 

Graysen’s temper only rose at her stoicism. “Take it off! ” 

“That’s enough,” Rhys cut in, trying to mediate with his lethal presence where Nolan had failed. “The lady keeps the ring, if she wants it. Though none of us will be particularly sad to see it go. Females tend to prefer gold or silver to iron.” 

Females was the wrong term to use. It only served to escalate Graysen’s outrage. “Is this the start of it? You Fae  _ males  _ will come to take our women? Are your own not fuckable enough?” 

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Nolan scolded again while Elain blanched. From their reactions, neither of the two people who knew Graysen best ever saw this from him before.  _ But Tabitha had, and she warned me.  _

“I am not marrying you. Our engagement is over. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.”  _ And I didn’t listen. _

He’d gone to far. She gave him license to be firm in his rejection, but not cruel. The scent of Elain’s tears was enough to have Nesta at him in an instant, her hand meeting his cheek with a satisfying sting and a loud smack. He fell slightly to the side, hand going to his cheek to cup the welt she had left there. Nesta bent over him, grasping his jaw with a vicious grasp she knew humiliated as much as it hurt. She made him look up at her and feel her disappointment as she hissed at him with all menace she could muster. “You never deserved her.” Nesta released his jaw and threw him to the side, catching Nolan’s eye as she turned around. To her unending surprise, he only nodded at her as if to say,  _ I’ll give you that one. _ Nesta strode back to Elain and wrapped her arms around her. To the room, she gave her dismissal. “I assume we’re done here,” and she strode Elain out of that room, picking up the pieces of her sister’s dignity as she went. 

* * *

The guards pointing their weapons at them didn’t even faze them at this point. Especially when it was clear they weren’t going to  _ do _ anything. The others could continue their talks and plans. Elain kept walking, so Nesta kept holding her. Morrigan kept following. She didn’t tell them to stop, so they didn’t. 

“Where are we headed?” Morrigan asked, her tone experimental and cautious. Elain kept looking ahead, starting to pick up speed as she walked them around the estate. Nesta knew this path. It was once her favorite in all the world. 

“The grove,” she answered. “Elain are you sure you want to-” 

Elain walked faster. Nesta picked up the pace. This was a bad idea. This was a horrible, no-good, very bad idea. Seeing where they fell in love, where he proposed, it would only hurt. But Elain kept going until they turned the corner of the house. 

She stopped abruptly and let out a broken little noise. The grove was a third of the size it once was. Where the magnificent mini trees once stood, stumps remained. The sight hurt Nesta as well. But it was understandable. They were preparing for war, they needed to make weapons. Just because she understood didn’t mean they needed to stand here and look at it. 

“Let’s g-” Without warning, Elain darted out for the trees, forcing Mor and Nesta to follow. When they caught up to her again, she was standing still just inside the treeline, tears falling anew. “It hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts here now.” 

“Ashwood has that effect,” Mor said solemnly. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” She grabbed Elain gently by the arms and tried to lead her from the trees, but Elain did not move. She stood still and clutched her hands around her cloak, face crumpling. 

“Why did I think it wouldn’t hurt?” 

“Because you loved him,” Nesta answered, wrapping her arms around her sister, holding her tight. “Because you were prepared for a life with him.”

“I hate to interrupt this, but we should leave, it’s bad to be around this much ash,” Morrigan said quietly behind them. 

But neither sister moved. Elain was crying into her sister’s chest, and Nesta was holding her tight, trying to hold her together. She barely registered Mor’s warning. She didn’t understand it. The last time she was here, these trees hummed to her, comforted her. But now, now they  _ sang _ to her. Loud and clear, chanting with the wind that blew through their leaves.  _ Nesta. Our kin. Nesta. Our sister. Nesta. Our same.  _ With every song, she felt herself grow safer, more at peace, stronger. With her tightest hug, she tried, with all her might, to pass some of that strength to Elain. 

_ Ashwood. Witchwood.  _

A hand clapped on her cloaked shoulder. “We need to go now,” Morrigan pulled at Nesta. Nesta lifted her head and looked at the old fae, she looked queasy, she was sweating. She looked back down at Elain, who was equally clammy, paler. Though where one wanted to leave, the other seemed content to stay and suffer. Nesta nodded to Morrigan, and lifted Elain up, holding her on her hip like a child. She walked slowly with Morrigan, not wanting to leave the comfort of her kin, but not wanting her sister to hurt anymore. As soon as they were clear of the treeline, Mor winnowned them all away. 

__

They did not go to the war camp. They were on a mountain, but this one was different, colder. The trees around them frozen with clear ice and refracting the sunlight like crystals. The snow underfoot was soft and fluffy. Ahead of them, down the mountain, there was bright greenery and sunshine. 

_ Where-? _

“We’re on the border of Winter and Summer. The rest of the army will meet us here but…” Morrigan waved her hand and conjured thick blankets. “I figured she’d prefer privacy.” 

Nesta nodded as she held Elain up. In the cold of winter, the salty wet on her shoulder was starting to sting, but it was better than flying with thousands of men. Morrigan swatted away the snow and laid one of the blankets down. Nesta stepped onto it and sat down with Elain, allowing her sister to lean into her. She threw her cloak around Elain’s shoulders, to encompass them both, and Morrigan added a blanket on top of that. She took a seat a couple feet away and watched them. It was only a few minutes before Elain had completely slumped over so her head was in Nesta’s lap. 

“There are worse ways to end an engagement,” Mor offered, sounding as awkward as she must have felt, watching her friend’s sister endlessly cry. 

“He might have been a dick in the end, but he was still nicer than Tomas was,” Nesta added, running her fingers through Elain’s hair. They fell back to silence, only the sound of quiet sobs around them. Nesta and Mor frowned at each other, that potential line of dialogue apparently not working. 

But Elain finally said, “You-you never said what happened.” Elain turned around so she was looking up at her sister from her lap. “Was he- did he say those awful things to you?” 

Nesta smoothed Elain’s hair from her face in gentle comforting strokes, letting her nails scratch lightly at her scalp. “Well we weren’t engaged for love, so he really had no qualms calling me names.” 

“I thought you liked him, at least.”

“I liked that his farm could feed us.” 

“I love Graysen,” she said. 

“And he loved you,” Nesta answered. She had seen it. He had told her. He had stood in her study and  _ told _ her. The past tense seemed to register. Elain curled over, burying her face in Nesta’s stomach. 

That sat there again, and when they tried to offer quiet shushes and words of comfort, Elain, didn’t seem to register them, or she ignored them, so Nesta stopped offering them. She just continued to stroke her hair and wait. 

“I didn’t know,” Morrigan finally said, “that you were engaged.” 

“You don’t know me,” Nesta answered. 

Morrigan rested her arms on her knees. “I was engaged, too, once, a long time ago.” Her eyes flicked up to Nesta. “You met him, actually. Eris. It’s... why Az-” 

“You don’t need to say it,” Nesta interrupted her. “You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.” 

Morrigan watched her, looking for something. She shook her head and smiled. “Feyre wanted you to hear my story.” 

Nesta took a breath in. “When I- when I first saw Lady Autumn, it struck me how much she looked like Tomas’s mother,” she said carefully, looking at Elain, wondering if she would understand, or if she hadn’t noticed. If she remembered what Feyre had claimed before Tamlin stole her away, if she was listening enough to know Nesta was talking about Lucien’s mother. “You don’t  _ need  _ to tell me your story.”  _ but I’ll listen if you want to. _

“You lived it.” 

“A version of it, anyway,” Nesta’s smile came out as a grimace. 

“Men love to tame powerful women,” Mor seethed. 

“Women do the taming. Men just love the results.” Mor seemed confused by her response. “Daughters don’t learn from their fathers.” 

Morrigan seemed to consider it, thinking of her own mother, no doubt. Nesta was. A sad woman, collared like so many others in the Hewn City. “I didn’t want to be like her,” Morrigan finally admitted. “I didn’t want to be anything like her.” 

Nesta couldn't relate. "All I _wanted_ was to be my mother." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry Nesta. You are your mother, for better or worse. God, I just want to explore how systems of disenfranchisement might be for the benefit of men but are reinforced and trained by women. Like women might be subject to men in their family, but it's their mothers who teach them to accept it. Like if Sarah doesn't reveal that it's women who clip the wings in her obvious foot-binding analogy I'm going to lose my damn mind. 
> 
> Mor, the entire conversation, finally understanding Nesta: oh. It's the trauma... still a bitch tho. 
> 
> Devlon: Ur a Witch, Nesta.   
> Nesta: neat
> 
> TBH I didn't care about the entire Jurian scene and just wanted to get Nesta to the Ashwood grove again. That's all I wanted.


	45. Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first real battle is here, and Nesta finds ways to be of service.

Their tents went up before even Rhys and Feyre’s. Morrigan’s orders. Nesta picked up her sister once more while camp-mothers erected Elain’s tent for her and summoned in the furniture. As soon as it was done, she brought Elain inside and tucked her into a warm cot. Nesta’s tent went up next to it, followed by Az’s on Elain’s other side, Mor‘s out front, and Cassian’s flanking Nesta’s tent. Perfectly insulated from the camp at large. Good. No one else needed to see this. 

Nesta sat in a chair next to her bedside, legs crossed, watching. One of the camp mothers stopped at the entrance. “Milady, your tent is up.” 

“Thank you,” Nesta responded. The woman was the closest thing to middle-aged Nesta had ever seen a fae. Magda was a crone, and the rest were young no matter how old. She, too, was youthful in her face, but hard work had given her lines. Either labor or Illyrian heritage gave her mass, and a long day made her tired. She bowed her head and turned around. The scars on her wings gleaming as she left. 

Nesta watched the entrance for a moment longer and turned back to her sister. They had not been alone since Graysen’s rejection. “Are you here or in the memories?” she asked.

“He’s going to ask Tabitha,” she said shamefully, turtling her head deep into the covers.

“I could have told you that,” Nesta crossed her arms. 

“I saw it when he asked for the ring. Him on knees in front of her,” she blinked away some tears. “I don’t see her with him though.” 

“You don’t?” 

“I see… I see them sometimes- our friends. Tabitha is always with a boy, but never a man.” 

Nesta whispered, “George.” Elain craned her head up in question. “Her son,” Nesta explained. 

“She had a son?” Elain asked, slightly more animated, causing some covers to fall from her shoulders. 

“Did you not know?” 

“I thought it was just a rumor,” Elain whispered, then with more solemnity as she sunk back down, “I thought a lot of things were just rumors.” More tears came. So many more. Nesta pulled up the fallen covers to tuck her in, then stroked her cheek gently. Elain turned away, pulling the covers up higher. 

“Elain?” 

“This is the last time,” she said. “But can I just… be alone?” 

Nesta nodded even though Elain couldn’t see it. “I’ll be next door, ok?” 

  
  


Cassian was standing in front of her tent, arms crossed in front of him, leaning on one leg, waiting on his tent, apparently. It was cold. She opened her tent and held the flap open, “Want to wait inside?” She offered. 

He looked back at his half-erected tent, the snow around them, nodded and followed her in. 

  
“How is she doing?” 

Nesta stretched her neck, looking at the wall of her tent as though she could see through to where Elain lay. “Three sisters, three broken engagements, and Elain had to be the one that didn’t end it on her terms,” she sighed and rubbed between her eyes. “Tea?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” 

Her tent was identical to Elain’s, if slightly different colors. Not as big as the High Lord tent, but it was cozy. A table against one of the sides had a small oil lamp-stove, teas, and a kettle. Next to it was buckets of water for whatever purposes. Her trunk and a chair were on the other side. The cot in the middle was as nice as Elain’s. She lit the stove and started heating the water while Cassian sat tentatively on her trunk. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t still with her.” 

“She wants to be alone. I don’t blame her.” She set out the cups and filled little tea balls. The beauty of magic stoves, the kettle whistled almost immediately. She handed him a cup and took a seat on her cot. 

“Worried about tomorrow?” she asked him at the same time he asked her, “Three engagements?” 

There was another silent pause. She repeated her question, “Worried about tomorrow?” 

He shook his head. “No. Azriel verified Jurian’s intel. They aren’t expecting us, and we will be  _ very _ ready for them. It’s just… the buzz.” She cocked her head in question. “Before battle, the atmosphere changes. Apprehension, excitement, it all blends. Makes it hard to rest.” 

Nesta nodded. “How did you deal with it?” 

“Drinking and fucking, usually,” he said with a shit-eating grin. She raised an eye-brow at him.

“Not in this tent, you’re not.” 

“Of course not. I can’t go two nights without sleep before battle, anyway,” he kept his smile. “We’re not all you.” 

“Sleep is for the weak,” she countered, taking a sip of her tea. Between Elain, the Wall, and battle tomorrow, she’d highly doubted she’d be getting to sleep tonight. 

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, she- along with most of them- didn’t touch their lunch. 

“Not since… breakfast,” in the Dawn Court, because this day was just so very long.

Cassian was immediately at the entrance, sticking his head out and asking for food. “Two plates, please Marta. Thank you.” He turned back around and smiled again. “I heard you slapped that little shit.” 

“Of course that makes you smile,” she rolled her eyes. The same woman who set up her tent brought by dinner more quickly than Nesta would have thought. Things must happen faster when the general asks for them. Marta brought them bowls of stew and a loaf of crusty bread. 

“Thank you,” Cassian said, taking the food from her. Nesta parroted from deeper inside. Cassian set the food on the table and indicated she join him with a jerk of his head. She came over and took the seat as Cassian pulled up the trunk to sit with her. 

She broke the bread, placing the bigger piece next to his bowl. “I wasn’t going to do anything. If he just turned her down, I was going to let it go.” 

“Really?” He didn’t seem to believe that for a second. 

Nesta rolled her eyes again. “I’d rather he turn her down than stay for obligation. I can’t fault someone for their feelings,” she sighed, “but he just kept  _ going _ .” 

“I can fault him. Not wanting to marry because she’s fae-” 

“I know you don’t understand it,” Nesta interrupted. “But you aren’t human.” They were silent again. Nesta ripped off a piece of bread and dipped it in her soup - time to change the topic. “Did you know Jurian?” 

Cassian considered. “I was in the front lines then- a foot soldier. I fought with him, certainly, but I was one of hundreds. The others knew him better, I mostly knew him by reputation… and after Clythia, I didn’t want to know him better.” The disgust came back, the one they all had when speaking of the actions that practically won the war. “I take it from your scowl, you disagree?” 

“You’re not-” 

“Human?” His voice rose, not much, but enough. “That’s not an excuse. And if you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, you aren’t either.” 

Nesta slammed her spoon on the table. “I am well aware what was done to me,” she snarled. “And I am also aware that is  _ nothing  _ compared to what Hybern did to his slaves, and what he will do if he has them again.” 

“So the ends justify the means?” 

“Your history books refer to humans as  _ chattel. _ You get offended at being called ‘lesser fae’. Was his action underhanded, manipulative, and horrible? Absolutely. But it  _ worked. _ And it turned the tide of the war.” 

“I don’t know why I didn’t expect you to believe in victory at any costs,” he shook his head and picked at his stew.   
  


“When the other outcome is desolation?  _ Damn straight _ .” Nesta took another bite of her dinner. 

“So why not train with me?” Cassian flicked his gaze up to hers. He leaned in, getting close- too close. Nesta froze. “If you believe in victory at all costs, why not learn to fight, join the battle yourself.” 

He was so close, looking at her with such intensity. This was too much. She couldn’t just look away. She couldn’t dismiss the question. Why did she keep letting him do this? And this time was entirely on her. They spend one night drinking to escape raucous sex noises and suddenly they’re what, “friends?” The fuck was she doing  _ inviting  _ him in? She was practically asking for this. 

“I won’t turn the tide,” she finally said. 

He stayed close. “You are stronger than you think, Nesta Archeron.” He backed away, back to dinner. “And with me as your teacher, it wouldn’t matter anyway.” 

They finished dinner and Nesta took their empty bowls and set them outside the tent. By the time she turned around, Cassian had moved to her cot and was lounging across it. 

“Your own tent is set up, you know.” 

“But I like  _ your  _ tent,” he beamed. “And I was thinking I’d call in my favor.” 

“What favor?” 

“I’ve been flying  _ all _ day,” he turned over onto his stomach, wings falling down on either side of the cot. “And it’s made me  _ very _ sore. I sure could use a massage.” 

Nesta felt red fill her cheeks, but somehow kept her cool. “I didn’t realize you demand payment for your services.” 

He turned his head to her, resting it on his folded arms. “I’m not  _ demanding _ . You don’t have to do anything. But I  _ do  _ think it would be a pleasant thank you for saving you last night.” His wings flared and settled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my shirt on, wouldn’t want to work you up,” he winked. This… was a bad idea. This was a dumb idea. She should just tell him to leave, or walk over and steal his tent for the night. Or leave and tell on him to Azriel. Really anything. Anything other than what she was currently doing.

Which was slowly, but surely, without taking her eyes off of his, walking towards him. She got to the edge of the cot and extended a hand, slowly tracing a line down the outside of his wing. He shivered. She pressed the rest of her hand against the surface. It was an odd texture, the same as skin, and she could tell it was supposed to be smooth like it. But there were so many little scars that bumped on the pads of her fingers. Some from Hybern, some must have been from before. 

“As lovely as that is, it’s my back that-” his breath caught in a simply delicious way as her finger traced up to the bones. _Oh,_ she thought, _locking that information away for later._ _Later? What?_ Nesta shook the thought from her head and changed her target. She moved her hands to his back, starting with the shoulder closest to her. 

She didn’t realize he wasn’t wearing his leathers when he came in, just a thick wool undershirt. She could feel the mass of muscle underneath the clothes. The very hard, very thick, mass of muscles. She explored a bit more with her touch, digging in the way he did for her that night, and this time the soft groan was from relaxation, not… whatever the wing did to him. 

From wear she stood, with his  _ sheer _ mass, there was not much else she could reach. And well, she had already come this far. “Don’t expect this again,” she said as she climbed on top of him, sitting down on his (very round, very firm) ass and bracing her legs on either side of him. She felt him about to say something and cut him off, “Can it or I stop.” He said nothing. 

Nesta went back to working his shoulders, this time both at once. It was a bit of a challenge, as she had to lean forward, but not accidentally put weight on his wings. And he was so  _ tall _ she had to stretch to reach. She moved down to the blades of the shoulders, digging deep into a bump just inside the bone. It ground under her ministrations and Cassian let out an absolutely sinful moan. “Shh,” she scolded. 

“It was a good spot!” he defended. 

“Shh!” 

“Can I at least ask a question?” The silence  _ was  _ a little awkward. She allowed it. “You said three engagements. I hadn’t realized you and Clare-” 

“Not Clare,” Nesta dug her knuckle into his knot, causing another groan - he bit this one off. She eased up a bit, going lighter on that spot for a bit. 

“Then who-” 

“A nobody. We were engaged for convenience, I broke it off when he no longer was.” She didn’t know how he always saw her, especially now when he wasn’t even looking. But he, so quietly, so gently, asked:

“Was he the one who-” 

“I said one question,” she interrupted, going much too hard on a bone, causing him to cry out. But he didn’t say anything else about it. 

He just bit his lip and let Nesta go back to work. When she finally got down grinding out the knots on his upper back, she found a new issue, the wings. They grew out on either side of his spine, going down most of the length of his back. From how he laid out, they were blocking most of the sides of his back, so she just took to gently rubbing little curly-cues up and down what little space was exposed on either side of his spine. 

She got to the bottom and could have stopped, but this was oddly meditative. So she kept going. From the bottom of the spine, she fanned out and curved up, starting a path underneath the wings. Her knuckles brushed on the underside of his wings and he shuddered again. She kept going. Another shudder and then he was on his side, his hip digging between her legs. 

His head was propped up on his hand. “If you keep going there, this night might have a very different ending than what you have in mind.” 

“Then we are done,” Nesta said, pushing off him before he shifted again and she let out a noise from the friction. 

As she got her leg clear of him, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap on the bed just long enough to give thanks. “Thank you. I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he whispered in her ear just before kissing her cheek. He let go immediately after, allowing her, in her outrage, to twist around and try to whack him in the head. He grabbed the hand that went for his jaw and held in place, his other arm going around her waist, holding her so she was sideways, with her legs up on the bed. 

“Let me go,” she said, hoping it sounded firm despite the heat on her face. 

“I taught you - just today, I might add- how to escape a hold. Can you really not get out of this?” 

“Cassian!” she hissed. 

“Ok, fine,” he nodded, and then looked back up with a gleam in his eye, “Only if you promise not to hit me.” 

She glared at him. One second passed. Then another. And another. 

“Guess I’m sleeping here then!” He threw his body sideways down on the cot, bringing Nesta back with him. 

“You are not sleeping here!” She wiggled in his arms, turning so she could push off of him, but it just left their bodies facing each other.

“Why not? It’s cold and I’m so hot.” Said with the confidence of a man who knows  _ exactly  _ how attractive he is. 

“You’re a brute.” 

“A very relaxed one now, thank you,” he smiled right into her face. 

“A giant brute.” 

“Nesta,” he said her name with a whisper. Her nostrils flared. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.” 

No, she hadn’t. 

“I can’t sleep like this!” she argued. 

“That’s not telling me to leave.” 

“Would you even stay?” she accused. There was no way he would actually stay the night here. He just wanted to annoy her with the possibility. There was no way-

“If you let me,” he answered in that raspy voice of his. He wasn’t looking anywhere but her eyes, holding her close, deadly serious. Nesta gulped. 

“Are you that worried about tomorrow?” 

“Not at all,” he smiled. 

“Do you feel bad about what happened today?” She meant the Wall, maybe her sister...

“Not why I’m here,” he answered. 

“Then why would you stay?” she asked. 

His eyes flared, the dark flare she’s seen in her bedroom, the quiver of his smile. But it was his forehead that he pushed to hers as he answered. “Because you let me.” 

Nesta took in a breath, and with him holding her like this, all she breathed in was him. Leather and the wind and the grass and  _ him _ . Today sucked. It royally sucked. The Wall fell, her sister was next door crying, and she was laying in this bat’s arms, comfortable and warm. 

“I’m still wearing my shoes,” she mumbled. He let go of her. Nesta pushed off him and got up. She pulled off her belt and placed it - and the dagger attached to it - on ground next to the head of the bed, earning a grunt of approval from behind her. She kicked off her leather boots and put them at the foot of the bed. She threw a glance over her shoulder at him, he had sat up now, and was watching her very carefully. With a steadying breath, Nesta bunched up her wool dress and pulled it over her head. She heard a sharp intake from behind her, but didn’t turn around as she neatly folded the dress and placed it in the clothes trunk. She pulled the pin from her hair and placed it on the table. 

When everything was in its place, she turned around to him again. It wasn’t like she was naked, she still had on her chemise, her bloomers, he regularly saw more of her sister and Morrigan. Cassian was sitting on the cot, watching her very carefully. His boots now neatly dwarfing hers at the foot of the bed, a set of knives by on the ground by where his head would be, and his leather breaches discarded haphazardly on the ground. He kept his shirt on, and his linen under breached were modest enough to cover everything, but her eyes still caught on the budle between his thighs. 

She approached the bed and he backed up a bit, to make sure she had space. She stopped just as her legs hit the edge. “Just sleeping,” she said definitively. 

“Of course,” he nodded. 

“Because it’s cold.” 

“Sure,” he said, sarcasm re-entering his tone. But he agreed. So Nesta climbed in with him. They lay down facing one another, one of Cassian’s arms acting as a pillow. With this position, she found her face very comfortable nuzzled into his chest. He pulled the furs up to cover them both, creating the perfect cocoon of warmth. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, to breathe in and sleep. His free arm wrapped around her and she fell asleep like that, feeling perfectly safe for the first time in… for the first time. 

She decided that the bond had nothing whatsoever to do with it. It had to be because he gave her a knife. 

* * *

Staying in camp while everyone went to battle was the torture Hybern failed to do when she was in a dungeon. 

She woke in Cassian’s arms. More accurately, Cassian woke her gently to get her off of his arm so he could get up and get dressed. 

“Nesta, Nesta, it’s time to get up.” She yawned into his chest and started to rise, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. By the time he had gotten out of bed and was pulling up his pants, she had fully woken up and realized what the hell she had done last night. 

She slept with Cassian. 

She  _ soberly _ slept with Cassian. 

In his arms. All night.  _ Snuggled.  _

“Cassian.” 

“Yes?” he asked, sitting next to her and pulling on his boots. 

“Don’t tell anyone.” 

He paused in the tying of his laces before agreeing. “Sure.” 

“I don’t want 50 questions with Feyre.”  _ Or judgement from Mor. Or looks from Rhysand.  _ He looked back at her and nodded. He reached behind and grabbed his bandolier. Strapping his knives to himself, he nodded to her and headed for the door. 

“Cassian,” she said again. 

“I won’t let anyone see me,” he answered. 

She shook her head. “Win.”

He met her gaze for a long moment. With an evil grin he responded, “As you wish.” And then he left for war. 

And so began a long day of waiting. Elain wasn’t crying anymore, but she was sleeping. Whether it was because she had been up all night mourning or because she was wandering her memories, Nesta didn’t know. But watching her sleep peacefully got boring pretty damn quick. Doing nothing got pretty damn boring pretty quick.

Nesta walked around the camp. It was empty, but not devoid of people. The camp-mothers flitted about, some prepping dinner, others cleaning linens, some were pre-packing, in case the order to move was given. If there were jobs for non-combatants to do, then maybe she could help here. Nesta approached the one that seemed to be giving orders to the others. 

“Hello…?” 

“Nonnie,” she answered the unspoken question and bowed her head. “Lady Nesta.” 

“Nice to meet you, Nonnie,” Nesta bowed her head back. “Is there anything that I can do?” 

The thin, stern looking Illyrian woman seemed surprised by the question, but nodded. She sent Nesta to a group of women preparing medical supplies. They were filling vials with vats of potions, tearing bandages, assembling suture kits, anything that would make it easier for healers to do their duty when the battle ended. The women all nodded to Nesta as she came over, and if they thought it was odd that the High Lady’s sister was volunteering to work, they didn’t voice it. 

Cassian was right last night. If she wasn’t going to be able to help fight the war, then she was at least going to help support the ones that were. One of the women put a roll of linen in front of Nesta. She asked if she needed a knife. With a little smile, she shook her head and unsheathed the dagger Cassian gave her. The woman squinted at it, but nodded and told Nesta to make the bandaged three knuckles wide. 

She didn’t speak as she worked the way the Illyrians around her did. But she listened. They chattered about soldiers, about the war, about what camps they came from. Some of them were married to soldiers, others to lords, it seemed Nonnie was even Devlon’s mother. Nesta smiled. That’s why they didn’t bat an eye, Nesta thought, it was just what these women did at war - whatever they could. 

Where Devlon and his men seemed to be afraid of her, the women didn’t care. At most she had one old crone - the lady mixing the potions- ask her, “Are you really a witch?” 

“Yes,” Nestaa answered solemnly. 

“Been an age since I last saw a witch,” the crone nodded to Nesta’s work, “make sure those bandages are straight.” 

And that was that. She still felt abuzz thinking about the battlefield, the progress, and wanted nothing more than to be there, watching, helping, but at least she was doing something. And there was dignity in what she was doing, however simple it seemed. She had been told that Illyrian women were mistreated, repressed. She could see the scars from where the older women had their wings clipped, but… they didn’t seem miserable. They smiled, they took pride in their work, their status. It wasn’t fighting, but it was essential, and they understood that. Nesta wasn’t an idiot, she knew that the lack of choice in the matter was what Cassian and Azriel had problems with, but she couldn’t help thinking that they didn’t understand this part, either. Not everyone is a fighter. It doesn’t mean their work isn’t noble. 

Nonnie came back. “Battle’s over. Camp is moving to the battlefield. Medics first.” 

And that was it. Supply runners strapped up with packs of medical supplies, held onto healers and winnowed them out. Morrigan and Feyre came back to take on this roll as well. The rest of the camp began to break down.

The kitchen staff went next, so they could finish dinner prep, and finally the tents, armor, and spare weapons. Nesta went last with Elain. She had wanted to go with the medical staff, to continue her little job, but Morrigan pointed out that the battlefield hadn’t been cleared yet, and that Elain might not want to see the carnage. Nesta relented. At least Mor made it clear that the battle was a landslide victory with minimal casualties. That she didn’t bring up Cassian was enough to know he was probably ok. She still kept pacing though, waiting, twiddling her thumbs, useless.

Landing in the new camp was jarring against the peaceful work of just hours ago. It was warm, for one - they were in the Summer court now. But the energy was different. The soldiers around her buzzed, excited and gossiping about their general. How he tore through Hybern’s lines, how he made a miraculous throw of a spear, how he was Enalius reborn. “He has  _ seven _ siphons, after all,” one said. She knew the siphon thing was a mark of power, but she’d have to ask him or Az about Enalius later. The excitement was a stark contrast to the ash and blood that still soaked the battlefield. Rhysand had cleared the corpses, but the stench of death and Hybern remained. 

She tried not to linger on that stench for too long. She needed to get back to work. With a quick check on Elain - now sleeping just as she was only now in a new location - she asked where the medical ladies were. 

Feyre, done winnowing people back and forth as Nesta and Elain were the final packages, joined her. The ladies all bowed quickly to their High Lady and handed them each a bolt of linen. With actual patients here, the staff was scattered about, no longer keeping around a single work area. As soon as they finished a basket of bandages, they were sent off to deliver them to a medic who needed them. Deliveries usually blended with some menial chores to help with treatment. Taking the used bandages, fetching water, washing the wound so the healer could finish up their current patient and immediately switch to suturing this one. It was tiring, and mud caked on her dress as they stomped around, but it was a good kind of tired, and exhilarating one. That was new to her. 

Nesta felt Cassian’s approach before she heard him. She snapped her head up to him. He was filthy, covered in the blood of his enemies and the mud of the field. The dark plate mail still strapped to his body, but his helmet, at least, was off - tucked in the crook of his arm- his dominant arm. 

It took her all of four seconds to piece together why Cassian, warrior extraordinar, the man who slept with his blades in reach and seemed pleased that she did, too, would carry his helmet in such a way that prevented easy access to the weapons strapped to his hip. She was walking over to him before she knew what she was doing. “You’re hurt.” 

“It’s fine.” 

She glared up at him for a moment, she’d told him that once when she was bleeding, and she was lying. Without answering, she went for his arm. He lifted it to her. With a flash of his siphons, the armor receded enough to expose a swollen and broken wrist. 

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhysand scolded behind them. 

“I was busy.” If Cassian was taking that tone with Rhysand, then he was more tired and probably in more pain than he was letting on. “And it’ll be fixed by morning.” 

Nesta raised an eyebrow at him, scowled and pressed a finger lightly into it, causing him to hiss. Better by morning didn’t mean it didn’t need attention now. “How do I fix it?” She asked, since she certainly wasn’t going to let him walk around with a broken wrist. 

“Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

Nesta was already reaching for the pitcher of water and bandages. She had assisted enough already today to know how to wash it correctly, at least When she started wrapping it, she asked him for his help. “Tell me if it’s not right,” she requested. He nodded. She started the bandage two inches below the injury, holding it in place with her fingers - like she saw the medics do. She wrapped it around, down, and then started up. 

“Too loose,” Cassian commented. She nodded and pulled tighter, he winced, “too tight.” She found a balance, he still winced, but it was from his injury being pushed back into position, not because she was hurting him. She got to the end and did the final tie off, tucking the bandages back into themselves. It was probably a sloppy job, but it was something. 

He nodded at her work and let go of his arm, ready to be done with it. But his other hand shot out and grasped her finger. She looked up at him, gratitude finding and affection in his beautiful hazel eyes. “Thank you,” his voice was rough, deep. He said it the same way he had told her his reasons for staying with her the night before. 

She wanted to cry as she looked over him. He had gone to war and he won, like she asked. He was a hero of the first battle, and he was standing in front of her with nothing more than a broken wrist. It was going to be ok. This man, this male, he could keep his promise. He could protect her people. He was Enalius reborn, apparently. 

She was going to ask him to explain that one tonight when Morrigan’s voice came from behind them. She had forgotten they weren’t alone. Cassian had, too, from the way he jerked back his hand. But she could still feel it, the soft calluses of his fingers, the strengthening connection between them. 

Nesta rushed back to the tent, making an excuse out of getting more water, trying very hard to remember why she had asked him not to tell anyone. It took longer than she would like to admit. Especially when she could hear him chatting away like it was nothing. 

* * *

Despite it being a landslide victory, there were enough injuries to keep Feyre and Nesta up for hours after dark. They didn’t even stop to eat. They just kept working. Tearing up bandages, delivering them to sick beds, clearing the old ones, ferrying out tools, washing wounds, whatever they could do to help.

More than once, they were asked to help hold down the patients. Keep them from spasming out of surgery. It was hard, for those cases, to remember the difference between medicine and torture. But Nesta grit her teeth and held firm, sometimes whispering to the male some platitudes, sometimes letting them focus on their fear of being held by a witch rather than the pain of sutures. 

It wasn’t until Nonnie sent them away that they finally went back to their tents to rest. Nesta stopped by Elain’s first, popping only her head in to check on her. The rest of Nesta was macabre enough that she was afraid it would scare Elain if she saw. Luckily, she was still asleep. There were dirty dishes on her table, so she had eaten at some point, then. That’s good then. 

  
Nesta’s stomach grumbled and she ignored it, trudging the 6 feet to her tent flap. The first thing she registered when she stepped in was the smell of stew - the food she’d been informed would be the default meal for this war. The second was the goblet of water thrust in her face that she took and drank without thinking. The third was the general standing over her with the pitcher and dinner. 

“Cassian!” She whispered loudly - not wanting to wake anyone else in camp, also her throat hurt? How did that happen? She finished the water in the cup. He traded her the cup for food and guided her to a chair. “What are you doing here?” 

“You have a habit of getting lost in your tasks. Eat.” He pointed to the food and refilled her water.

“You could have left it on the table,” she said between bites. Manners be damned. 

“But then how would I repay you for my wrist?” he held up his arm and sat on the bed. She rolled her eyes and started inhaling the bread. 

She paused for a drink of water. “Aren’t you tired?” She could see it in his eyes. He was exhausted when she set the wrist, he had to be entirely on fumes now. 

“Probably as much as you,” he smiled at her. “Nonnie mentioned you working with the females all day.” 

Nesta drank down the last of the broth and wiped her mouth. “I cut bandages all day,” she said dismissively. 

“From the state of you, you did a mighty bit more than that.” 

She looked down at her filthy gown. She looked as bad as he did just hours ago. To say she needed a bath was an understatement. But it was already late, the ladies would be tired, too. She could change tonight and ask for hot water tomorrow. 

“Thank you for dinner, but I think we both need sleep now more than anything.” 

“You are  _ not  _ getting into this bed without a bath first.” 

“Excuse me?” 

  
Cassian pointed to the side of the tent. 2 buckets of water sat steaming with towels and soap arranged nicely next to them. “Figured that could cover your face, hands, and feet. Marta will get you a proper bath tomorrow.” 

Nesta didn’t even hear him. She just sighed and stripped her outer dress as she walked over to the blessed hot water. 

“Oh, might need to change that one, too.” Nesta turned to look at him and saw where he was pointing. One of the men she held down had knocked her into the dirt, and apparently the blood on the ground had soaked through to her chemise as well, getting both the front and the back.  _ That’s why I felt wet.  _ She had thought it was just sweat. There was that mixed in there, too. 

“Turn around,” she said to Cassian. Wondering why that was her order, and not “leave.” But he did as he was asked immediately and she was already starting to untie her chemise’s laces. She peeled the sweaty, bloody garment off, finding it had soaked through to her skin. She dipped a washcloth in the water and wiped her front down first. She dipped the washcloth in the second bucket, rinsing it, and when back to the first. With a wet splosh, she slapped the cloth to her back, trying to get the grime she felt there. 

“Nes, that’s not going to work.” 

“Don’t call me Nes,” she turned to see him walking to her. Nesta spun back around and covered her chest, red as a cherry. “I said turn around.” 

“You’ve got a gallon of blood down your back, let me help,” he was behind her now. “I’m not looking at your- chest.” From the stumble, she could infer the “much” missing from the end of that sentence. His arm rested on her shoulder, his palm up and hand open. She huffed and placed the washcloth in it. 

He didn’t say anything as he methodically wiped down her back. He didn’t take his time, he didn’t linger, though Nesta’s breath still hitched and she knew she’d imagine this night very differently in the future whether she wanted to or not. She could feel her pulse quicken every time the cloth met skin, every time a knuckle brushed on her spine. She hoped he didn’t notice. He didn’t seem to. He just got her clean and handed the cloth back. She listened as he walked back over the bed. “I’m facing the wall now,” he called. 

  
  


Nesta took a stuttering breath and washed her arms and legs as quickly as possible. She wiped down her face last and pulled the towel around her. She finally turned around, and he was sitting on the far end of the bed, facing the cloth wall. She couldn’t be sure, but his ears were definitely red. 

“I’m getting dressed now.” She stepped over to her trunk and pulled out another chemise and pulled it over her head. Once she had that coverage, she removed a pair of clean bloomers and changed them under the privacy of her skirt. “Ok you can turn around.” 

He turned slowly to her. The red she saw on ears was everywhere on his face. It would be cute if he didn’t look so… hungry. He looked her up and down, eyes catching on the chest he’d now had the pleasure of  _ seeing. _ But whatever pure male instinct made him zero in on her breasts, he choked down so he could look her in the eye. And she nearly melted at the heat in that look. 

“Why…” he said slowly, “didn’t you ask me to leave?” 

“Why did you stay?” she countered. 

“I wanted to.” 

She took a breath. “Well, I wanted you to... too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, the title is a joke. Nesta is finding ways to be a service but also this chapter is 80% fanservice. 
> 
> Cassian, the entire chapter: Honestly I didn't think I'd get this far and I have no plan so I'm just going to keep rolling with it until she actually kicks me out.


	46. Scrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle 2 does not go as well as battle one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:   
> Minor mentions of gore

Cassian did not wake Nesta when he snuck out of her tent before dawn. He would be joining the captains and commanders for strategy meetings for the night’s battle, and they expected the camp-mothers to begin preparation for the move at first light. If he wasn’t going to be seen, he needed to be out before then. He thought waking Nesta, who had been working for the past week with the medic- and then laundry - ladies while his men rested, was the least he could do. 

She wished he hadn’t been so considerate. 

He had been sleeping in her bed for the last 5 days. They never did anything other than sleep, though there were certainly moments that seemed like they might. But with the camp around them and everyone separated by flimsy canvas walls, it felt too public to try for more. And despite the heat, the glances, the gentle holds, they weren’t actually anything. Just two people thrown together who seemed to understand one another and enjoyed sharing a cot. 

That’s all. 

Practically nothing. 

Nesta rubbed her eyes and got up. Today was going to be busy. 

Feyre and Cresseida were creating a glamour all night. It would copy their movements during the day and stay in place after they left. Rhysand would cloak the army, and no one would suspect they were on the move. They’d be able to ambush Hybern’s forces tomorrow evening, all of whom would be exhausted from a long day of marching. Because the fight was at night, unlike last time where they set up camp after decimating the enemy, they were going to transport camp with the soldiers and set up during the battle. In preparation the ladies would be packing and piling up supplies on top of preparing for the influx of wounded. 

Nesta wore a simple grey-green linen gown with a cream apron tied around her front. She would be working today as well, and with the Summer Court heat, there was no need for wool. Her hair was braided down and then pinned up with her iron hair piece. It would be half-fallen by the time she fell back into her cot, but it would at least be off her neck. She kicked the mud off of her boots as she climbed into Elain’s tent with their breakfast rations. 

“Morning Elain,” she placed the food on her table. Elain was fixing her own hair, simple braids to keep it out of her face. 

“Are those strawberries?” 

“Marta seems to think sucking up to the High Lady’s sister will help.” 

Elain smirked, “Or the general’s… what are the two of you, exactly?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Uh-huh,” Elain popped a strawberry into her mouth with the kind of knowing smile that only a sister could have. Elain was the only person who knew that Nesta and Cassian were bunking together. Being in the tent over, she had heard them that first night. She was probably right that Marta knew, too, that camp-mother gave her so many knowing looks every time Nesta turned in for the night. 

“Shut it or no chess today.” 

* * *

“Are you sure you want to move your knight?” 

“Why not?” 

“For the love of - look at the board Nesta.” 

Elain would do this sometimes. When she was winning too easily, she would try and explain to her big sister why some moves were dumber than others. And since Nesta made it clear they only had time for one game today, she was determined to keep this going as long as possible. It didn’t stop her from winning, it just dragged out Nesta’s defeat. 

With a huff, Nesta looked at the board, at the spaces she could move the knight. “Oh.” she said quietly. “Shit.” Nesta thought she was going to have a clear shot on the king in two turns with the knight. But Elain had set her pawns in striking distance. There was nowhere to move the knight where they couldn’t take it. And she couldn’t leave it either, it was at risk where it was, too. 

“The knights a lost cause,” Elain leaned on her hand, “Don’t waste time on it.” 

“Fine,” Nesta moved her queen out to the field. “Check.”

“Bit early for that, don’t you think?” Elain castled. Trying to get a check now would put it at risk from Elain’s rook. Nesta moved her bishop to block where the queen could be taken. Elain would absolutely lose a rook to take a queen, but it was something at least. 

Elain smirked and took the knight. In doing so, Nesta realized the pawn was in her bishop’s path. She took it. Elain sent her knight to Nesta’s king. “Checkmate. You are getting better.” 

“Thanks,” Nesta started resetting the board. “I’ll be helping with the medical team again today. Do you want to-” 

“No,” Elain cut her off, placing a marble piece with a loud thunk. “Maybe another day, but-” 

“I understand. Do you want to play one more before I go?” Nesta offered. Elain smiled tentatively at her. Elain hadn’t really left her tent since they camped here. True to her word, she only spent one night crying and dreaming. The next day she slept in while the soldiers battled, not getting up until they woke her to move camps. The short time they were outside, she had caught a glimpse of the soldiers, injured and not, and was bombarded with visions. Of the fighting, of their death, of their pain. She hadn’t wanted to leave her tent after that. 

So far she had only told Nesta why she was staying in. They decided that telling the others would only worry them unnecessarily. It wasn’t exactly stunning news to learn soldiers die in war, but if anyone knew she was seeing _their_ deaths, it could seriously hurt morale. Nesta might have also enjoyed this option because it made Elain far less likely to be used as an outcome predictor. 

Elain shook her head. “No you should go,” she hesitated. “They will need you. It-it will be bad today.” 

“How bad?” 

“I don’t know. I- I tried to look for it.”

“You were _looking_?” 

“I wanted to try. But -but there’s… so much… I don’t see,” she gestured to the board. “I don’t get this view. I see snippets, what they will see,” she threw a hand around her. “And it's so close, so much chaos. I can’t tell what’s really going on.” 

Nesta reached out and held her hand, giving it a squeeze. She didn’t want Elain being forced, but she could still feel a little pride that her sister had taken it upon herself to look anyway. Elain gave her sister a defeated smile. “You should go. Valsa will be expecting you.” 

Nesta nodded to her sister. “I will be back for the winnowing,” she assured her. 

Devlon had not been happy to learn that Nesta was working amongst the _females_ he had warned Cassian to keep her away from. He didn’t voice his displeasure to her, but rather to Rhysand and Cassian sometime on the end of the third day after the battle. One of whom was surprised to learn she was working this much, the other said that since she technically was of rank with him, there was nothing he could do. Rhysand’s solution was to call Nesta over and order her to stop helping. 

“Nesta, you are not to help out or work with the Illyrian females in any way.” 

Nesta looked at Rhysand and his falsely-serious expression, to Devlon who looked equally scared and annoyed, and then to Cassian, who was looking away, trying to keep it together. 

“Bite me.”

She turned on her heel and went back to work, appreciating the bark of laughter from Cassian as well as Rhysand’s dialogue to Devlon. “Well I don’t know what you want me to do. You can see she doesn’t follow orders. And she is my wife’s sister so…” Cassian ordered his troops to start digging ditches the next day. 

Nesta went from Elain’s to the medical center. She was greeted by the ladies there warmly. Most of them had moved over to laundry with her when the injured were all but gone and the healers could manage on their own. Today, they were right back to it, tearing bandages, assembling kits, preparing tonics. 

Valsa, the old crone mixing potions, bade Nesta come to her. During laundry duty, Nesta was assigned to vat duty. The strength she gained as a “High Fae” allowed her to stir the cloth through boiling water easily, and even lift the massive cast iron vat without much trouble. Valsa apparently wanted her to do the same here. 

“Keep an even stir. That’s it.” Nesta kept a steady pace with her figure eights, despite the heat from the fire below causing her to sweat in the summer swelter. Valsa propped in the fresh poppies, muttering to herself. Nesta watched wide-eyed as the plants disintegrated almost immediately. “Much faster with a stirrer. Gillie! Bottles!” 

The old woman began ladling out doses into glass vials, passing the full ones to back for Gillie to cork and place in a padded box. “Faster, Gillie, we need to bottle it all before they pack up, they’re reporting rain at the battlefield.” 

“Why not bottle it before today?” Nesta asked, still stirring, keeping the mixture from becoming too hot at the bottom. 

The crone smiled. “Potions lose their magic rather quickly. Poppy milk, when it’s allowed to settle, becomes very addictive. Keep stirring.” Nesta went back to it. She felt Valsa’s focus on her, even as she continued to work. “If you have an interest in learning the art of the brew, I’d be happy to teach you.” 

“Thank you, but I don’t know if we should waste the resources” 

“Wars may last a long time, but they are never forever. I’ll teach you when we go back to Illyria.” Nesta didn’t have time to process that sentence or ask what she meant by it before Valsa walked away to bark at Gillie for not packing the vials with the suture kits as ordered. 

Nesta stayed with them until they had packed away all of the potions they were going to get before battle. By the time the late afternoon had arrived, camp was broken down, supplies were strapped to everyone, and they were ready to head out. The Illyrian forces took off through the skies, while the camp-mothers, the Darkbringers, and the Summer forces were winnowed along by Tarquin’s magic. It would exhaust his power for the day, but would by them the element of surprise. 

She excused herself to go back to Elain’s tent before they broke it down. It would be the last one taken down and the first one they would put up. With the army still buzzing around them, and the battle so near, leaving Elain waiting outside alone was not an option. Elain didn’t say her thanks, she just held onto Nesta, keeping her face buried into her bosom, trying not to look around her - at the soldiers whose death she saw. Morrigan stood behind them, keeping an eye out just in case. 15 winnows and 15 minutes later, they were on the side of a steep hill with the sound of metal ringing and men calling resounding around them like the rain that started to soak their clothes. The battle had already begun, it seems. 

Elain held on tighter while they set up her tent. Nesta murmured comfort onto her head, but Elain shook her head. “I thought looking before would help.” She was just about to ask for more information when Marta announced that the tent was ready. Elain pushed off her sister and went inside, stopping to tie the flaps closed. She watched for a moment, wondering if she should try to get in anyway, if she should spend the battle holding her sister. But she had to trust. If Elain wanted her there, she wouldn’t have tied it off. Nesta had told Valsa she would come help after transport was done, but one battle cry sounded louder than the others, barking orders as he flew through the air. 

Nesta turned around and walked to the edge of camp without thinking about what she was doing. She felt Morrigan come up behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to watch,” she murmured. 

She was right. She didn’t. She shouldn’t really. She should go back to Valsa and the ladies and make herself useful. There was still so much work to be done. But she couldn’t look away from the chaos of the field. And Elain’s warning. _It will be bad_. She was hoping that it was just always bad - down there in the meat grinder of war. She had helped with enough injuries to know that even landslide victories would seem bad up close. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept watching, she would see what Elain couldn’t, what the men described last time. The stuff of songs and legends. 

Songs and legends were _bullshit_ , she decided. Whoever wrote them was lying. There was no honor, no glory down there, just relentless violence. She watched armor crumple and men fall. She heard screams and saw the blood burst forth like a geyser. She sensed the panic when the lines of men collided and broke apart in chaos. She could hardly follow it all, she had a rough guess over who she was supposed to be rooting for, but with the mud and blood they all blurred together. All but one. 

She spotted Cassian as he kicked off an enemy’s head to fly up. He barked orders to his soldiers, called out to commanders to relay his calls. They tried, she thought, but Hybern must have been expecting them as well, because they answered every maneuver with more death. It was a stalemate. 

Until the riders came. 

The cavalry strode in, providing enough force to mow the foot soldiers down. The mobility wasn’t as advantageous as the flyers, but it crippled the Darkbringers almost immediately, creating an opening to get through to the rest of the army. 

“No,” she breathed as Cassian launched himself into the middle of the enemy line. He was glorious, producing a veritable ballet of brutality, but he was one man, and he had stranded himself in a sea of enemies. Morrigan started muttering louder from a few feet away, not just at Cassian, but at the army as a whole. 

Cassian began to slow, and the soldiers around him closed in more and more. She caught sight of Azriel fighting towards him, but he wasn’t going to make it. Cassian wasn’t going to make it. “Mother above,” she prayed. She _prayed_ , desperate that that deity was watching and would listen enough to save the general. Red flared, and Cassian gained another few feet of breathing room, but it would not last. 

Nesta could not look away from where the soldiers fought for their lives. She heard Morrigan and Feyre arguing about sending the former in, but she couldn’t find it in her to look away. She just half-listened to the argument, and when she thought there was a break enough, she called out in her firmest voice, “Help them.” 

She would. If she thought she could unleash her power and only strike the enemy, she’d beg to be winnowed to Cassian’s side and just… let go. But there was no way. No way for her to be sure she wouldn’t decimate their own forces, and Hybern wasn’t even here. The best she could do is ask Mor to go. 

In the minutes it took Morrigan to get her weapons and get to battle, Cassian had tried and failed twice more to push forward. Mor’s golden hair shined out as she appeared, not next to Cass, but next to Azriel. Nesta’s hand went to her throat. She had to choke down the knee jerk anger at Mor choosing Az and not Cass. Especially as she watched how they immediately turned their attention to fight towards him. She wasn’t choosing one over the other, she was bringing reinforcements. 

Nesta nodded and watched as they tried to meet up, but every foot gained seemed to be lost a moment later. She wanted to scream down to Cassian to hold until his friends got to him. But there was no way he’d hear her here, anyway. 

The ground sloshed next to her. She had barely realized it had gotten that wet. Nesta turned to her sister because she could hardly believe the implications of the footfalls. “You’re leaving?” 

“I’ll be back soon,” Feyre said those same words with the same tone and the same expression the first time she went hunting. 

Nesta nodded and turned back to the field, she could only hope her sister was going to hunt the enemy commander’s head. 

* * *

  
She didn’t see Feyre appear on the battlefield, but that didn’t mean much. Nesta could barely keep track of anything that wasn’t happening directly around Cassian. And even then she was having trouble reading the action. With a sword to her throat, she couldn’t tell you where Rhys was in that mess. She only assumed if Feyre didn’t appear next to Cass, she was with her mate. 

Cassian continued his assaults, but the red flares from his shielding got less bright, the shields got smaller. There were bodies of enemies piling up around him, but there was seemingly no end to the number of forces Hybern was throwing at him. None of them were a match to him individually, but there was strength in numbers. This was the plan, she realized. The strategy. Separate their best and overwhelm them. And.. 

It worked. 

Nesta felt the strike as she saw it. She dropped to her knees with a scream and felt every inch of the sword that tore Cassian open. One of the camp mothers came running to her, she felt the wrinkled hands on her shoulder, trying to pick her up, to talk to her. But she couldn’t look away. Cassian was on the ground just feet from the commander. He was on the ground. Her knight went down, overwhelmed by pawns. 

But he was not alone. The golden bishop finally reached him, and she stuck her curved blade clear through the pawn’s eye. The rook was there, too. Azriel made it, where Morrigan fought around them, Az went to his brother’s side. Blue light shined on Cassian’s stomach and shadows extended from around them. Whatever power he had left, whatever he could dig out in desperation to get his friend out, it obscured Morrigan, provided the cover she needed. Mor made the final strike against the commander as her comrades disappeared into Azriel’s shadows. 

Nesta pushed off from the ground, she made a blind run to the medical tents. They had to be taking him there. She heard footfalls follow her. With a rush she made it into the tents, tearing one open to see Azriel standing over a very wounded Cassian. Nesta froze at the entrance, taking in the scene. The woman who had been running with her continued forward. And Nesta watched as Valsa, called for a kit and began cutting away her general’s shirt. 

She murmured something to Azriel. Nesta couldn’t hear it through the buzzing in her head. She couldn’t move her feet. She was just standing useless in the doorway, staring at the entrails popping out of his wounds. 

“Magda!” Valsa hollered. One of the other girls, one whose name Nesta couldn’t remember, that she didn’t notice standing off to the side, maneuvered her way around Nesta and ran off to get the head healer. If it wasn’t obvious how bad his wounds were, needing Magda was enough. 

She couldn’t form the words to ask. She started to move her feet, to walk closer. “Get her out of here. It’s going to be hard enough to stabilize him until Magda gets here.” Valsa started to reach for his intestines, feeling along them. Nesta’s stomach upturned its contents onto the ground. “Get her out of here!” 

Azriel walked over to her, herding her out, softly speaking to her. “Come on, Nesta. You shouldn’t see this.” Nesta shook her head, her feet unwilling to move. Azriel lifted her head, forcing her attention to him. “Nesta, they can’t do the job if they have to worry about you,” he murmured. “Do you understand? The best thing you can do is wait outside.” 

Nesta didn’t want to believe. Didn’t want to leave. But he was right. She nodded and allowed him to escort her outside the tent. She heard a squelch and then Cassian groan and she nearly broke back in, but Azriel held firm to her shoulders. He was looking behind them as he did, equally concerned with the noises in the tent. 

“Feyre…” he said quietly. “We need Feyre.” He didn’t explain why before he seemed to disappear into his mind, the shadows billowing around his ears. They dropped and his expression cleared. “Dammit, I’ll have to look myself.” He disappeared into the shadows entirely this time.

Nesta heard another cry from in the tent. She grabbed her left wrist with her right and squeezed hard, holding herself in place. She couldn’t go in there. She would get in the way. If she went in there, she would start crying over him or vomiting into his wounds and it would make it worse. She needed to stay out here. She needed to trust the nice old Illyrian that offered to make potions with her. 

She spotted Magda running up, watched her as she entered the tent. Heard her mutter an expletive as she asked Valsa what all had already been done. A relief… until Magda said she needed to work quickly. Nesta felt her heart sink. She wasn’t here. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t her life. She wasn’t covered in mud standing in a war camp listening to the sounds of her mate’s surgery. This wasn’t - 

Tiny hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her with too much force. Morrigan was shouting at her. “Where’s Feyre?” Nesta didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. She didn’t even know if this was the first time she was being asked. “Dammit! When did she leave? Nesta!” Morrigan kept shaking her. Azriel suddenly was holding onto his friend back. 

“Morrigan! Calm down.” 

“Feyre is _missing_ and if you don’t -” Mor paused, so did Azriel. “What the _hell_ is she doing in the _Middle_?!” 

Another groan sounded from inside. This time all three of them charged into the tent. Magda had her hands inside Cassian, all the way to the elbows. Nesta vomited again, falling to her knees. This was a nightmare. This was a nightmare and she was trapped here and there was no- 

_SMACK_!

The pain radiated from her face. She felt hands, bloody, muddy, crusty hands grip both side of her head, forcing attention on their blonde owner. “ _Cassian_ is the one who is hurt. _Cassian_ is the one who needs our attention. If you can’t be here without distracting everyone, then _leave_.” There was no kindness. No gentleness. Just anger. And she was right. Azriel was standing behind her, trying to be kind. Even Rhys had appeared in the tent and seemed to be concerned. But it was Morrigan kneeling in front of her, pissed as hell, that got through. 

Nesta wiped her mouth on the wet apron she put on that morning and stood. Valsa came over to her with open arms. “Come on child, let’s go find somewhere else to be useful,” and she led them from the tent. 

Valsa took her back to the other ladies and gave her the most menial job they could - refilling water basins. It kept her moving, kept her busy, but somehow also kept her in view of Cassian’s tent. If they made it through this night, she was going to have to offer many thanks to the old crone. The distraction of seeing the other injured also helped center her, somehow. Knowing that there were others that needed help, that she could help without freezing up was a comfort. 

She saw as Feyre came running from somewhere in camp. How she got so filthy, Nesta had no idea. She and her mate re-entered the tent. Nesta looked at the water in her hands and dropped it off at another surgery. She grabbed the empty spare bin and started to walk back to the spout when she heard the best sound in the world. 

“Don’t pull rank because you’re pissed off!” She lost her grip on the basin when she heard Cassian yell from inside the tent. He was up. She didn’t know how much better he was, the voices were quiet after that, drowned out in the sounds of surgeries and people around her, but he was alive. 

She was still standing there, trying to listen for him again, hoping she didn’t imagine his shout when Feyre, Mor, and Az exited the tent. Feyre saw her first, offering the update Nesta had been waiting for. 

“He’s fine. Healed and awake.” Relief waved over her and Nesta let go for a moment, relaxing in the knowledge that he was not dead and that she really did hear his voice. 

“Shouldn’t you be refilling that bucket?” Morrigan looked at her with pure cold anger. Nesta met her glare, finding much more than anger in her eyes. Stress, worry, relief, frustration, all swam around together. Nesta felt - a kinship, of sorts. An understanding. Morrigan was angry, with her yes, but with everyone, and she couldn’t be angry with everyone, so she took it out on Nesta. Whether she meant it to or not, it helped. Her anger was the only thing that was ever going to get through to Nesta, get her off the ground and keep her from distracting from Cassian’s surgery. And that's what it did. Additionally, Morrigan had the benefit of being right then, just as she was right now. Nesta could yield, today, to Morrigan’s justified rage. She could be a punching bag for it. Just this once. 

* * *

  
With Cassian stable now, she was told she could graduate from menial tasks that wouldn’t hurt anyone if she fucked up to menial tasks that required some form of focus. She was glad of it. Glad to be back to the work she’d done last time. A long night of holding bodies and cleaning wounds and collapsing at the end of it bone tired seemed so _fucking_ good right now. 

But she had barely finished washing out the first wound - another near gutting - when something knocked on an iron stake of her mental shield. She followed it around to the front of her fence, to a gate she had never noticed before. Maybe because she had never needed to let someone in until now. The ashwood receded, creating an hole in the iron-work of her gate to let Rhysand’s voice through. 

_Feyre left to hunt the Suriel and find the rest of Hybern’s army. It told her that you could find it through your connection to the Cauldron, as Hybern travels with him. Amren is here to help with the scrying. We are gathered in our tent._

_Yeah, ok._

Nesta sighed and got up, wiping her hands on her apron. She found Valsa and let her know that the High Lord had demanded her presence. Her friend nodded and bid her leave to go. In all honesty, Nesta would have much preferred to stay and work here, with her hands. But she understood that this would help, too. Maybe it would even help more. 

_Maybe_ , she hoped as she marched through the mud, _it will only take a few minutes and could get back to work_. 

Nesta knew it was an empty hope when she got into the tent and was greeted by the damn Book of Breathings. 

_Hello princess. Blood and mud fit you. Death fits you. You can feel it, can’t you? The pull of the desolation-_

Amren slapped it for her, but Nesta was already ignoring it. She was far more focused on Cassian, sitting upright - if slouched- in a chair. He had on a grey linen shirt, loose and too big, so she couldn’t see how the wound looked. It took all her self-control to not rush over to him, to touch his face and lift that damn shirt and see that cursed wound for herself. To not yell at him for leaving this morning without saying good-bye and then making her fear for his life. But she controlled it. She held in the anger and the concern and the actions that would tell the world the two of them were closer than they knew. And she redirected her attention to Amren. 

Her little demonic tutor stood over a large map of Prythian. Without so much as a word of greeting, she tossed a small pouch on the table. “Bones and stones.” 

Nesta had seen this type of scrying before, only it was called “fortune telling” and usually ended with assurances that “yes, you would live a long time” or “oh no, something terrible will happen, pay more to find out what.” The something terrible was always not that bad and incredibly common - if you paid more. “So, I scatter these like some backstreet charlatan and it’ll find the Cauldron?” 

Amren, at least, still appreciated her sense of humor. She laughed, “Something like that.” Nesta emptied the contents of the bag. The bones that fell out looked to be finger bones, old and yellowed. They clattered with the perfect white stones, marked with what looked like Sylvan letters. She looked to Amren, wondering if scrying was just another spell. “Three stones for the faces of the Mother, four bones,” Amren hesitated, searching her memory, “For whatever reason the charlatans came up with that I can’t be bothered to remember.” 

Nesta snorted. This wasn’t a spell then. “So what—I just shake them around in my hands and chuck them? How am I to make sense of any of it?”

“We can figure it out,” Cassian answered, sounding more tired and weak than she’d ever heard him. “But start with holding them in your hands and thinking—about the Cauldron.” 

“Don’t just think about it,” Amren clarified, turning her attention from Cassian back to Nesta. “You must cast your mind toward it. Find the bond that links you.” 

Hesitantly, Nesta picked up the bones and stones, holding them in one hand. The bond that linked her to the Cauldron was the well of power she stole. Finding that part wouldn’t be hard, but connecting to its home was just as likely to awaken that awfulness, send it rushing forth to go back. The damn thing might even try to swallow her down in the process, spiteful as it was for the power she’d taken.

“I—am I to … touch it?” _Please say no. Please say no. Please say no_.

“No,” Amren said firmly. “Just come close. Find it, but do not interact.”

“Nothing can harm you here.” Cassian’s words drew her attention. She watched as he struggled to his feet, brushing off Az’s attempt to either stop or help him. He walked slowly to her, every step a great effort, the left arm she’d set holding his belly - the wound he’d just had closed. He came to rest next to her, his right arm bracing the table to hold him up. He looked like a fool - only a fool would move in his condition. “Nothing can harm you,” he said, as though his current state hadn’t already. He took his left hand off his stomach and let it rest on her lower back. 

Fine. Let them be fools together. Let her believe him that this wouldn’t end badly. Nesta closed her eyes focusing on Cassian’s face, on his touch, using that to warn the power to _stay_. She would not have him live through that surgery only to die when she scried. 

Nesta touched one hand down into the ocean within, just the surface of the power, with the other, she extended it out, tried to feel for something out in the wild that felt the same. 

Nothing. 

"I don’t feel anything.” 

“Go deeper. Find that tether between you.” 

Nesta let her hand sink down more. Still nothing. She removed her touch from the surface and waded in until all but the hand holding those bones was submerged in the tides of the Cauldron’s power. She focused on nothing, nothing, but the feeling of floating, the feeling of the power she had swallowed down, she let it try to drown her once more. She let it think it had finally won. It jumped from her lungs to her arm to her hand, trying to leap out through the bones to its former home. She followed along, grabbing onto it, halting its path, just before it hit home. 

And there it was. There she was. She stood, just on the edge of Cauldron’s lip, staring into its depths. It was mad at her. She could feel it. Its power was, too. It didn’t like being played. _Be mad at your master if you hate dealing with me so much._ She jumped down off the Cauldron, she didn’t have time to care about its ire. What she saw when she turned around was what made her whimper in fear. 

Standing in a war tent, staring over a map was Hybern, Jurian, and commanders no one gives a shit about. That was to be expected. But behind them, stretching out to the horizon, was their army. So many. Too many. _How many?_

They didn’t seem to notice her. Only the Cauldron, angry and having a tantrum behind her, sensed her presence. This was an opportunity, better than anything else. She started counting. In her mind, she felt a knock at her walls. It wasn’t Rhysand’s darkness, but Feyre’s nothingness. She opened the gates of her mind, let her in. Between the two of them, they could count twice as fast. 

Feyre got there and stood next to her, taking in the sight Nesta was seeing. She called her name, Nesta kept counting “You found it. I see—I see where it is.”

Nesta looked to her sister, words were hard here, in this state. She could only bring herself to say her sister’s name, hoping with her gesture to the army in front of them she could get the message. Feyre took her hand, pushing it down slightly, “Let’s go back.” She said it with such seriousness, but when would they get this opportunity again? Nesta nodded, but went right back to watching the army, trying to count again. 

Feyre wasn’t watching the army. She was watching the Cauldron - warily. “Open your fist.” She pulled on Nesta’s wrist, hard, “Open it now.” She dragged Nesta through the vision, trying to drag her big sister with her back through the gates of her mind. The whole time she kept her eye on the Cauldron, afraid of its stirring, of the temper-tantrum it was throwing. _That’s just what it does,_ Nesta wanted to say. Ignore it. But Feyre pulled harder, ran faster, and shouted. “Open it now, or it will get in here. Open it now, Nesta!”

That warning. That the Cauldron was trying to come back, that it could be felt by the others back in the High Tent. That was the warning that finally had Nesta throwing her hand open, releasing the scrying stones and the tether to this vision. 

And then she was back in the tent, panting and upright solely because Cassian was keeping her up. “What the hell-”

“Look.” Amren cut off Cassian, pointing to the map. While she was there, she could only see the army, and it terrified her. But now, here, seeing where it was. That was infinitely worse. 

“300,” Nesta said quietly. “300 thousand troops not 200 miles from home.” They all whipped their heads to her. “At least that much. I didn’t get a chance to count them all.” 

“You were counting?” Feyre asked. Rhysand held out his hand, from their small eye gazing, she could only imagine Feyre was showing him what they saw. Rhysand turned to the group, and it seemed everyone else was getting the update, too. 

“Estimating, actually.” She figured each line was a thousand soldiers deep, more or less, and just started counting them five at a time. She felt Cassian squeeze her back. 

Helion and Tarquin entered the tent just then. Rhysand had probably summoned them the same way he summoned her. He probably gave them news, too, because Helion wasted no time jumping into the discussion. 

“Kallias will arrive soon,” he didn’t seem to have much hope in the prospect himself but Cassian still answered with ominous pragmatism. 

“He’d have to bring forty thousand soldiers. I doubt he has half that.” He was short of breath though, and the words sounded pained. Azriel must have heard it, too, because a chair appeared out of the shadows behind Cassian. Nesta lent him her shoulder and eased him down. A chair appeared for her as well, and for everyone in the room. She took a seat. 

“They had us playing around, thinking they cared about Summer. All the while looking to sweep the human lands,” Tarquin sounded pissed that it was his court Hybern used as bait. 

“If he can sweep the south, then he pushes us North in a solid line, trapping us in the Middle, forcing us to break lines to avoid its denizens. Thank you,” Cassian accepted the potion Azriel fetched for him. He’d need it to get through this meeting, but he’d probably be out soon. Nesta watched the map, watched that damn spot she’d found. 

“It gives him a story to sell to the continent, too,” she hated it. 

“What’s that?” Helion asked. 

She looked up at him. “He can say he’s defending the human lands from you lot - fighting up, not down. The queens might be willing to sell out their people, but I doubt all their generals and ministers will. If war is in full swing over here and the queens still aren’t preparing… Coups have been started over less.” 

“Won’t they figure out he’s lying when he starts killing the residents?” Amren asked the question, cool and precise. 

“If he does that,” she really hoped it was an ‘if’ and not a ‘when’, “Then there are any number of cover stories. He could say it was you, for starters. Most humans wouldn’t be able to tell between a Hybern Fae and any other Court. But he might not even need to do that much,” she ran her fingers back in her hair. “Relationships are strained already between the island and the continent, and there’s an ocean in the way. Merchants already stay away in war… It would actually be easier,” the words felt bitter on her tongue, “ for him to eradicate the human population as quickly as possible and just keep sending the letters pretending to be their informants.” 

Helion nodded to her. “I see you were made the Human Emissary for a reason then. More than the emotional appeal.” 

“We have to take the fight to them,” Feyre said. 

“With the size of the host, we’d be courting Death.” Tarquin countered. 

“Even if we don’t, we’ll be courting death. Just in a different location,” Cassian reached for Nesta’s hand as he said it. 

“Either way, nothing will be decided until we know what Thesan and Kallias bring. And we certainly can’t make the decision without them,” Rhysand surmised. No one hoped for Beron to join, then. And Tamlin didn’t have an army anymore, anyway. 

“We’ll rest on it,” Tarquin stood, to indicate his dismissal. “Meet at dawn tomorrow. Making a decision after a long day never helped anyone.” He was as - if not more - exhausted as the rest of them, no doubt.

“Agreed,” Helion clapped his hands on his chair and stood. “Good night and good rest,” he nodded to Cassian on the last words before turning and heading out. 

Tarquin was more solemn in his good-bye, maybe because his home was below the middle and he had more to lose. “We’ll find a way to face this,” he vowed before turning to leave, only to be cut off by Varian’s abrupt entrance to the tent. Nesta had suspected Amren’s feelings toward the man, but certainly never expected to have those suspicions confirmed with the following sight. 

They all watched in stunned silence as the Summer general headed straight for Amren, knelt in front of her, and started kissing her deeply. Nesta heard the purrs from next to her and suddenly wished she had taken a seat anywhere else. Especially when Amren’s answer to the kiss was to wrap her legs around his waist and get hoisted out of here. It was impressive, actually, how deftly Varian avoided the table, chairs, and the people in the room as he walked them out - considering Amren’s face was still plastered to his. 

Rhysand tried to interrupt the awkward amazement that settled on them all. “I suppose that’s how Varian decided he’d tell Amren he was feeling rather grateful she ordered us to go to Adriata.” 

Tarquin was still staring where they had left, grimacing at the rather bold display. But he managed to find the humor in it, quipping, “We’ll alternate who has to deal with them on holidays,” before he left.

Only Cassian laughed, and it did not sound good. He turned to Nesta. “Eat or bed?” 

From the work of the day to the scrying, not even counting the emotional exhaustion, Nesta only had one answer. “Bed,” she breathed, knowing he probably only had a few more minutes himself. 

Azriel helped her get Cassian up, and she tucked herself under Cassian’s arm. She placed a bracing arm on his back and held his arm over her shoulder as he put more of his weight on her. He wished the room goodnight while she tried to make sure her grip was good enough to keep him upright the whole way. She knew Azriel was following them, ready to take over if Cassian passed out or got too heavy and was about to fall. But she made it on her own. Neither she nor Cassian cared that he or anyone else saw Nesta march the general right into her tent, not even asking if that’s where he planned to go. 

* * *

Cassian had passed out the moment his ass hit the cot, falling sideways towards the pillow like he had jokingly not a week before. Nesta huffed. She pulled off his boots for him. She debated getting his belt for him, but then the thought of him, tomorrow morning, gave her pause. _Oh? You took off my belt? Couldn’t wait to get your hands on me?_ If he couldn’t stay conscious long enough to take off his own damn belt he can deal with the discomfort of sleeping in one. 

Nesta chucked her dress and shoes, pulled out the hair pin so her braid fell in a long rope down her back, and crawled into bed next to him, turning away from him so as not to accidentally put pressure on his wound during the night. She fell asleep almost as quickly as he did. 

Nesta stood outside her home. She watched as Azriel’s vines pierced Illyrian hearts, taking care to stab through their wings. Elain went to the door, she recognized the plant that was there. “You-” she started before a puff of pollen blew in her face. “Must come in.” Ianthe and Nesta entered, one extending a manicured hand to her sister, the other growing, allowing itself to spread through the house. 

Nesta ran in, running to stop them. She opened the door and watched as Elain and her father cowered from her. Feyre stood up tall, holding a knife, ready to strike. With a single wave of her paw, Nesta blew away the worn painted table and tossed the knife across the small room. She roared and Feyre begged. “Please. It’s just me. I did it. I killed it. They had nothing to do with it.” She watched as her father stood up and tried to claim he had killed the fae. As if such a coward could. 

She roared at him. “SHE’S IN PAIN!” Her father paced in front of the fireplace. “Nesta, you can’t know what you are asking.” Nesta held the book open to him. He wouldn’t be able to read it, the lighting in this library was always too dark for reading. “There are healers. Above the Wall. They can cut out the growths. She can be well again!” Her mother’s coughing tore through the house like it so often tore her throat. “No, sweetheart, she won’t.” 

She kept coughing. “Nesta,” cough, “my little,” cough, “lady”. More coughing. Nesta was crying, clutching the bottle her mother asked her to open. “Remember… what I taught you.” Her mother nodded to her. “Remember… you are a lady.” More of that damn coughing. “You will do what needs to be done.” Her mother coughed more and more. It had been endless these past weeks. Nothing soothed it anymore. “Like I taught you,” she took Nesta’s hand in her own, shaking as it was, and brought the bottle to her lips. Nesta turned it up, helping her mother drink it all down so she could finally sleep peacefully. She had to be quick, before her father or Elain-

“Elain!” Graysen called out. “It’s been you Elain. It’s always been you. You are the one for me. My favorite, before anyone else.” Graysen stood in an ashwood grove, calling to Elain as she walked away. “Even now, I still love you.” Elain paused, turning towards him. “And I can fix it. Elain I can fix it. We can be together again.” Elain smiled and ran toward him. He took her in her arms. “I can even take you to your mother.” 


	47. Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had pissed off the Cauldron. And it wants its revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:  
> Implied assault It's late in the chapter.  
> __  
> I also suggest listening to this song as you read: https://open.spotify.com/track/6kvb7wGqyGSWlzIE3YuxRv?si=ABg0udYQR0iDmPQ0R57KxA

Nesta shot up from bed. Something was wrong. Something was  _ here. _ She could feel it. The Cauldron slithering around camp. But more than that. She could hear it. It… was playing a melody. It was... singing? 

_ The ones who tell the lies... _

“What’s wrong?” a very groggy Cassian asked beside her. 

_ are the solemnest to swear... _

The notes whispered on the wind. It was a familiar tune. She knew it, but she couldn’t place it. It was so slow, so quiet. It was taunting her with it. She had made a fool of it and now it wanted to repay the favor. But then why? Why was it so far away? 

_ And no answer will be heard.. _ .

“Shit Feyre!’ Nesta didn’t bother with shoes. She ran from her tent, making a beeline for youngest sister. It came to find them. It came to repay the favor. 

_ To the question no one asked... _

Feyre was just stepping out of her tent, Rhysand shirtless behind her. From the look on her face, “You hear it, too?” 

Amren came up around a tent to join them, wearing only what had to be Varian’s shirt. He was behind her, apparently all the males sleep topless. “It came here—its power. I can feel it—slithering around. Looking.” 

Varian, for as pretty as he looked without a shirt, didn’t seem very bright. “The Cauldron… But- it’s aware?” 

Amren nodded, looking directly at Nesta. “We pried too deep. Battle aside, it knows where we are as much as we now know its location.” 

It was still singing, still making that hauntingly familiar song. “Listen,” she needed them to be quiet. She couldn’t hear it over their stupid questions and comments.

_ So I ask you as a bro- _

“I can’t hear anythi-” 

“You were not Made,” Amren snapped at her boss. She missed Amren, having someone who understood that when Nesta feels or hears something, it’s not -

_ And I ask you as a friend... _

“What does it want?” Feyre asked. Nesta didn’t know. It was growing so quiet, now, retreating. It might actually have only come to taunt them. To show that it could but- 

Azriel appeared out of one of his shadows, hissing, “What is that?” 

“You can hear it?” Feyre asled. 

“No—but the shadows, the wind … They recoil.” 

_ And I ask you as a lover... _

“I think it’s leaving,” Feyre’s whisper was louder than the Cauldron was now. It  _ was  _ leaving. But something wasn’t -

Cassian stumbled towards them, the potions still not entirely worn from his system, and the wounds not completely healed. It looked like Morrigan was holding him up as they approached. She was probably the only reason he made it this far. 

_ And I ask you once again...  _

It seemed to be almost entirely gone at this point. “Hybern knows where we are by now. The Cauldron likely wanted to have a look for itself.,” Amren sighed and shot Nesta a look, “After we taunted it.” Nesta wanted to shoot back,  _ you told me to! _

“Let’s pray that’s the last we see of it.” Varian angled his head. “So you three … because you were Made, you can hear it? Sense it?” 

“It would appear so,” Amren already seemed bored with this whole affair, ready to go back to bed. 

“What about Elain?” 

_Is it true what they say?_

As soon as Azriel said the words, Nesta remembered where she had heard the song. She knew who it was for. Feyre wouldn’t remember it. She was too young. Nesta herself almost entirely forgot it. She had forgotten it. 

Until 2 months ago. 

When Graysen got the band at the Koffield to play their mother’s favorite song.  _ Practice for our first dance, _ he said. 

She broke into a run, back to the tents, back to Elain’s tent. Nesta ripped open the canvas, shouting, “Elain!” Nothing. Not a thing. She could see the cot was empty but she still pulled off the covers. “ELAIN!” She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. 

Nesta was nowhere, her head was light, she was dizzy on her feet. She had taunted the Cauldron. Treated it like an angry toddler. It couldn’t touch her. It knew it couldn’t. But it knew she loved her sister. 

It knew Elain was alone. 

It knew Elain kept only happy memories. Of their mother. Of their family.

It knew Elain still loved Graysen. Despite everything. Her relentless optimism. Her best quality. Her ability to focus on the good, ignore the bad. Her ability to believe. In people. In happiness. 

So it sang to her as her lost fiance. Played a happy memory to her. Promised her a family and a future and happiness. And she followed. Nesta snarled as Azriel approached the cot and she didn’t even know why. He felt her bed. “It’s still warm,” he murmured. 

_ There’s still time.  _ Nesta was running out of the tent, towards where she had heard the Cauldron singing its song. If there was a merciful god, she would still be there, walking just outside the edge of camp. 

There is no such thing as a merciful god. By the time she got to the edge of camp, Rhysand was stepping out of the woods holding Elain’s pretty blue cloak in his hands. Nesta fell to her knees and let out a sob that might have been a gag. 

_ It took her.  _

_ It took her.  _

_ It  _ **_took_ ** _ her _

_ Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again.Not again. _

Nesta felt like she was going to explode. Everything was black and nothing and that’s what she should  **make** it. Elain was gone. Elain was  _ taken _ . It was just like Clare. No. No it was worse. Last time was Feyre and Rhysand’s failure. This time it was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. 

_ That’s it, Princess of Rot. Destroy everything. Give in. Let go.  _

Of all things, it was the Book of Breathings that broke through. She didn’t even know when she had gotten back to Feyre and Rhysand’s tent. But she was there. And there were people around her. People she cared about. People she kind of hated. People she didn’t know but certainly didn’t deserve to feel her out of control. 

And she was so close to out of control. The walls were crumbling, the power was rioting. She collapsed down to the floor, knees up and head in between and she made a perfect swan dive down, raging at the power that rejoiced in its disobedience. 

_ YOU MUTINOUS SHIT. YOU WANT OUT? YOU WANT TO BE FREE? YOU MISS HOME? YOU  _ **_ARE_ ** _ HOME. DEAL WITH IT. _

That was a first. Scaring the power into submission. But it worked. Faster than any other method she had. It cowered from her, tripping over itself to rush to the bottom of her well. That was one immediate problem solved. Now for the other. The impossible one. 

“We’ll get her back.” 

Nesta lifted her head, looking up at Cassian. He cared so much. He was so sure. And he was so wrong. “No, you will not.” If she was even still alive, there was little doubt where she might be taken. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart.” Cassian opened his mouth to say something dashing and confident and stupid. “Even you. Especially not when you’re injured.”

“I’m getting her back.” Nesta dragged her attention to Azriel. The determination in him. He cared for Elain. She knew it. Whatever he felt for her, it was strong enough that this hurt him. That he thought of her before even Nesta did. This was not last time. Other people  _ cared.  _

She knew it wouldn’t stop him, but she warned him anyway. “Then you will die.” 

“I’m getting her back,” he only repeated. The anger in him, he knew the cost before Nesta said it. It wasn’t bravado. It was anger that drove. Nesta almost believed him. 

Feyre joined the hunt. “I’m going with you.” Azriel didn’t argue, only agreeing with a curt nod. 

“You’ll never get far enough into the camp,” apparently Cass could apply common sense to people other than himself. 

“I’m going to walk right in,” she answered, her features and voice changing as she spoke. Actually changing, not a glamour, Nesta realized, as this disguise she could actually see. Nesta stood immediately, recognizing the bitch Feyre had killed just that afternoon. The Cauldron had even been so kind to show her Ianthe just that night in her dreams. 

“Shit.” Nesta didn’t know Cassian knew Ianthe or what she looked like.

“They might already know she’s dead,” Nesta warned. Not trying to stop Feyre, but making sure they thought this through. Losing one sister tonight was hard enough. 

“We’ve no other options,” Feyre explained, then to Azriel, “I need one of your siphons.” 

His answer was to chuck one at her. Cassian muttered something about a silversmith, and Nesta grabbed the candlesticks on the table and tossed them to Feyre. This would be faster - much faster- if the High Lady asked. Feyre headed to find the blacksmith while Azriel went to get clothes.This was a stupid plan. It was dangerous. But it was a plan. 

Nesta paused after they left, realizing the one part of Feyre’s transformation that didn’t sit right. 

“Wait, Ianthe’s tits aren’t that big.” 

Cassian stared at her for a moment, and then despite everything, howled with laughter as he realized Ianthe must glamour herself. 

* * *

Feyre was back in 5 minutes with a simple silver circlet and gem. Azriel returned with the robes. Nesta helped change her, fluttering out the dress. “You need rouge. She’s the type of bitch who’s never without rouge.”  _ If she’s glamouring her tits, she’s wearing makeup.  _ She dug around in Feyre’s makeup box and pulled out the red powder. Just a bit on her cheeks, and fully dark on her lips. 

When she was done, Nesta stopped and looked. It wasn’t her sister she was looking at, but it was her baby sister she was seeing. She was so young, so naive, so determined, so clever. She hadn’t hesitated. She jumped in to act - as she always did. Nesta wanted to punch her and hug her at the same time. She squeezed her shoulders probably too hard.  _ The last time, Feyre. Hunt for us one last time, please.  _

She stepped back as Rhys re-entered the tent. From the look on his face, no one had told him. No one had time. She watched silently, drifting vaguely to Cassian’s side, as the two leaders of the Night Court had their moment. As Rhysand made Azriel vow- _ vow  _ to bring back both of her sisters. 

She could forgive everything he’d done for forcing that vow alone. 

Feyre looked to them all, To her husband, to her general, to her sister, and to her friend just coming in the door, and then Azriel pulled her into a shadow, and the rest waited. 

“How could you let them go!?” Morrigan yelled. To whom, no one knew. 

“No one else could go,” Rhysand answered. Nesta was back to sitting on the floor, listening to the well within, trying to keep calm and not worry more than she was. 

Morrigan whirred her attention around the room. She knew it was true. But she was worried. As worried as Nesta was, with power tamed enough and hers enough that she could afford to get this worked up and not risk anyone. “Why not me? Why not an army? This is stupid, Rhys. This is a stupid, foolish, dangerous-” 

“Enough!” Rhysand bellowed. Nesta was shocked. She’d never heard him mad before. “Don’t take your anger out on us because you spent all night being pissed at Feyre.” His voice was starting to break. He was worried, too. “We have enough to worry about without your personal drama.” 

Rhysand left the tent, to tell the other High Lords the plan, he claimed. But it was more likely he just didn’t want to see his cousin. Cassian looked to Morrigan and immediately went over to comfort her, only to get shoved off and told to go. He did, no questions asked, making an excuse of needing to help with the High Lords. 

Alone in the tent, Nesta assumed Morrigan had forgotten she was there. She slumped in a chair, staring at the floor. They sat in defeated silence for minutes before Morrigan spoke up. 

“You sent her go hunting alone again.” 

“She’s not alone,” Nesta answered. “And I never sent her anywhere.” 

“Why didn’t you go?” 

“I can’t.” 

“That bullshit,” Morrigan dragged her red eyes to Nesta. Anger, defeat, disappointment. “You wouldn’t. You just prefer cowering behind your baby sister while she does all the work for you.” 

Nesta bit her tongue. She stood up, there was no reason for to sit in this stupid tent and take this. If Morrigan wanted to be pissed and scared and take it out on the world, she could find another goddamn target. 

“She told me. You hid while the debtors came. You spent while she worked. You-” 

“ _ I am  _ **_not_ ** _ her mother!”  _ Nesta bellowed, turning on her heel, her careful control frayed to the last. Morrigan looked stunned. “And fuck you for throwing that in my face. You think I don’t  _ know _ ? Do you think I’m  _ unaware _ what she did for us? How much we let her do? Do you think I  _ like _ it? Do you think I like that to save one sister the other one has to risk her life? But what’s the alternative Morrigan? You tell me. Do I go? Do I go and alert Hybern that we are there because you know, you  _ know _ the Cauldron will react the second I get near it.” Nesta huffed and sat down. Morrigan just kept looking at her in stunned silence as Nesta snarled her final piece at a lower register. “I have two sisters. And I might lose them both and I can’t do a damn thing besides wait and hope and believe that Feyre does what she always did - and comes home safely.” 

Morrigan sat there for a moment, considering, “She doesn’t know why I got so angry.” 

Nesta was tired, she didn’t care about this conversation or Morrigan’s stupid problems anymore. “Tell her when she gets back.” 

* * *

Nesta waited in the High Tent all night. Rhysand and Cassian came back shortly after her little spat with Morrigan. 

“Thesan arrived.” 

Both women nodded as Rhysand took a seat in one of the chairs and as Cassian grunted his way down to the chaise. The general looked sweaty and pale, hand ghosting up to his stomach, but stopping before it grasped his wound. He was trying to hide it, but he was fighting for consciousness. The healing potion and the wound both demanded sleep.

“You should go rest,” Rhysand jerked his head to him. At nearly the same time Morrigan and Nesta threw in their own variations of the order. 

“I’m fine,” he hissed, less out of anger and more because the words were hard. 

“That you stood to greet Thesan and direct his troops to their area is a miracle. But don’t push it. You need rest,” Rhysand was solemn. 

“Can’t I rest here?” Cassian patted the chair, glancing down at where Nesta still sat huddled on the floor. 

“To do what?” she shot up at him. “Reopen your wounds? Make your recovery slower? Go back to your tent and rest.” He watched her for another second, unsure of what he should do. “Go sleep.” 

Morrigan was suddenly at his side, helping him up the way Nesta had earlier that same evening. “Come on, Cass. They’ll come get us when there’s news.” He looked poised to argue, but between the three of them ordering he leave and the pain he was probably in, there wasn’t much else to say. He accepted Morrigan’s help and let her walk him back to his tent. 

The absence of Mor and Cass shifted the energy in the tent. The remaining two sat in oppressive silence, waiting. 

“She’ll come back.” 

“I know,” Nesta squeezed her knees, staring at that damn spot on the map. They were there. Now. In the middle of that hoard. They had to come back. They had to come back. 

“You can try to get some sleep yourself. I’ll wake you whe-” 

“No. I’ll wait,” she looked up to him. “I can wait in my tent-” 

“No. No. Here is fine.” Rhysand seemed unsure what to do here. Either he was not used to waiting, or he just really didn’t know what to say to Nesta, the sister-in-law that had no patience for him. 

There was nothing for either of them to say. Assuring one another that  _ this _ is what Feyre is good at seemed stupid. They knew that. They also knew that if they needed comfort, neither wanted each other. They could talk about their fights, talk about why they never got along. But this wasn’t the time and if Nesta was being honest, even if it was, she wouldn’t want to. Understanding Rhysand, forgiving him, it didn’t seem necessary. It wouldn’t make her like him any more than she did. He was just family now. They were stuck with each other as long as - 

“Feyre.” Rhysand said the words and immediately disappeared. Nesta scrambled up from her spot. Hybern. She could smell it. The putrid stench of that bastard. Feyre was back. Nesta ran after it, hoping she was right.

When she broke around the tent and skidded to a stop as saw them. All of  _ 4 _ of them. They looked like hell, but they were back and they were breathing. 

The sob of relief shuddered through Nesta’s entire body.  _ She isn’t hurt. _ Feyre had said the words into the mental shield. Nesta ran. She pulled Feyre into the tightest hug she could. A night of stress and a decade of gratitude came pouring out at once. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

They both made it back. Both of her sisters. Alive and well and  _ here. _ Cauldron be damned. Starvation be damned. The world be damned. Her family was  _ safe _ . 

Elain came over to them. Nesta removed one arm from Feyre and placed it on Elain’s cheek. She looked into those beautiful, clear, big brown eyes. Elain smiled at her- a real smile- and threw her arms around Feyre, too. 

They didn’t let go. 

Rhysand had to put his hands on the lot of them and winnowed back to his tent. Morrigan was already there with Helion. She took Azriel from Rhysand and immediately disappeared again. The girls didn’t let go of one another. Not until Valsa entered the tent, carrying a worn leather bag with her. 

She kindly asked them to ungroup so she could get in and clean Feyre’s wound. It would require removing her shirt entirely, so Rhysand went with them to the back room of the tent. Left alone with the sisters, Helion just turned to them, well, to Elain. 

“Would you like those shackles removed, dear?” He gestured to the chaise. Elain nodded and Nesta lifted her clean off the ground, walking her over since the binding prevented walking. She set her down gently on the chair. It was a marvel that she wasn’t hurt, just shaken. Helion sat next to her, taking her wrists in his hand. Nesta wasn’t too pleased with the familiarity of the gesture, but he didn’t let his hands wander from the manacle. 

As they began to glow and he began to comment on the cursed spell Hybern used to seal them, Nesta noticed a girl fidgeting in the corner. A human girl. 

There had been four that came back. 

She looked like hell, and she looked terrified. Where Elain had been perfectly untouched, this woman was covered in injuries, large and small. Burns, lacerations, and bruises all peppered her skin. Feyre, the perfect martyr, the perfect savior, couldn’t be content with just rescuing her sister, she had to save a poor human from that Hell as well. Nesta gave Elain’s shoulder a squeeze and went over to the girl. 

In her gentlest voice, she extended a hand. “Can you sit?” The girl nodded. “Can I touch you?” She paused, and nodded again. Nesta put a hand on her shoulder and at her back, easing her into a chair. Nesta’s eyes caught on the way the girl’s knees violently came together - the blood that looked like it had dripped down her thighs. She could feel her shaking. 

“Would you like some water?” Nesta didn’t wait for a response. She poured a cup and used the moment when her back was turned to steady herself. This was not about her. Elain was back. She was unhurt. Helion was freeing her. Feyre was getting her wounds treated with Valsa. Her family was ok. This little girl was not. She needed the calm Nesta. 

The girl accepted the water as Nesta raised the cup to her lips, drinking it down as it was tilted gently. She spoke then, “The other one - with the wings - is he-”

“He is when the High Lord of Dawn, getting his wounds healed. He will be fine,” Helion called from behind him. “It will be an easier time of it than this - damn!” He dropped the manacle and took a deep breath through his nose, picking up Elain’s wrist and going again. 

Nesta knelt down by the girl. “What is your name?” 

“Briar.” 

“Hello Briar. I am Nesta. You have met my sister Elain,” she gestured behind them. “And that is Helion, you can ignore him for now.” She heard Helion about to say something, but kept talking. “Can I take a look at your hands?” 

Briar was covered in wounds, no doubt dozens more under her clothes that she couldn’t see and would not ask to inspect until they had privacy. Nesta didn’t know a lot about medicine, having only been with the medical staff for a few days. But even she could tell that the holes in her palms should be the most worrying of the visible wounds. Briar held out her hands. The wounds there were nasty things, open, bleeding, scabbing, and filled with mud. 

“They… nailed us to the posts,” her voice was soft, a horse whisper. “I thought… I thought they would care for us. We- we were told…” the tears broke then. She curled inward. Nesta, not knowing what else to do, just opened up her arms and took the tears. Medical care would wait a moment, then. 

“I know what you were told,” she stroked the girl’s hair. Her blue and white robes were in tatters, crusted with mud and blood and bile. But they were unmistakable. She was a Child of the Blessed. She believed the fae were benevolent gods, beings of grace and light who would embrace her and care for her. 

“Why?” She asked. “Why?” 

Nesta didn’t have words. She didn’t have an explanation. She looked to Helion. He was gritting his teeth, focusing on the manacles, but she could see in his face the discomfort- the horror. It was Elain who spoke. 

“Because they are scared.” She answered. “Because they are small.” One manacle dropped to the ground, but she did not take her attention from Briar, now pulling away from Nesta to look at the other sister. “Because cruelty makes them feel strong. Because they are too weak to find strength otherwise.” Her other hand was finally freed. “Because they are wicked. And they are evil.” 

“Well said.” Valsa re-entered the room, wiping her hands clean of Feyre’s blood. “The High Lady’s wound has been tended to, her mate is helping her change.” She walked over to Briar and Nesta, kneeling as Nesta had done, extending her wings only enough to allow them to comfortably rest on the ground. She looked up at Briar. “Child, I am afraid our healers have exhausted their magic tending to the battle-wounded. If you would like, you may come with me, and I may look over your wounds tonight. Tomorrow, we can use magic.” 

Briar looked at the old woman, her wings, her kind eyes. She looked to Nesta, to Elain, and glanced behind her. 

She nodded. Slowly, carefully. Valsa held out her arms and helped the girl up. They began to walk out of the tent. 

“Wait.” 

Helion stood from the chaise. He removed a pin attaching his stole to his shoulder and let the fabric fan out, a fine purple silk. He walked over to the women and held out the fabric. Briar took it, wincing at the effort of curling her hands. Valsa was there immediately, helping wrap her in it. With Briar’s tiny stature, compared to the larger Helion, she now had a makeshift cloak enveloping her, giving her some cover for her walk to the medical tents. 

Helion said nothing else. He bowed to her, just slightly, and went back to tending to Elain’s manacles - now working the ones on her ankles. 

Nesta watched where they left. She would find Briar later, check on her. For now she drifted back to Elain’s side and held her hand. 

* * *

Rhysand and Feyre came out a few minutes later. Feyre was changed to a thick sleeping gown, Rhysand in loose wool pants and a sweater. Her baby sister was clean, but she looked so exhausted. She was standing, but only by the grace of Rhysand. And when even that seemed too hard for her, the High Lord lowered his wife gently to the great bear skin rug to sit and watch. 

“That bastard used a different spell for  _ each _ manacle,” Helion hissed as one cuff finally broke from Elain’s ankle. He smiled up to Elain. “Last one.” 

Elain was watching him. Very closely. Nesta figured she was just curious how he was breaking the spells, but there was no way of knowing how much she was really seeing. Whatever it was, she didn’t seem interested in sharing. As soon as the last chain dropped, she politely thanked the Lord for his work and walked promptly over to where Feyre had long fallen over from exhaustion. 

Rhys, Helion, and Nesta watched as Elain knelt down next to her sister, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you Feyre.” Elain stroked her little sister’s hair, and seemed surprised when she curled up closer. Without hesitation, Elain dropped her side and pulled Feyre closer, keeping her safe from the cold. Nesta smiled and came over as well. With a kiss to Feyre’s cheek, she lay on the other side, cocooning and protecting their baby sister as they once did so often. 

As she drifted to sleep, Nesta wondered if Feyre ever figured out why she was always squeezed between them in that hut. If she knew how afraid they were of losing her. If she knew that this was their little gift. Because they couldn’t hunt or provide, but they could make sure she was warm at night - her thrashing be damned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want to write a poem that fits this. I am going to do that.  
> Also me: But it's a song, and it needs a melody and I have no musical talent despite it being a constant day dream of mine. 
> 
> Honestly it was a toss up between this and flowers from the concept album... If you want to re-read with that song, it's also worth it. (also if you haven't heard hadestown, go listen to it. (literally any version) Anais Mitchell managed to capture the sound of magic and it's beautiful) 
> 
> I wanted Nesta to hear the song the Cauldron is singing, lyrics included, since she has the deepest connection to it. The others have to listen just to get the melody, but they don't get the words.
> 
> God this chapter was so hard to write. I had like ten versions of the fight with Mor, longer, shorter, more heart to heart, more peacemaking. But ultimately I like Nesta just losing it. 
> 
> Mostly because it's such a quick little plot point. Like, Elain is kidnapped and returned in /a/ night.


	48. Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit, gotta move the humans before Hybern does a genocide.

Nesta woke up with only Elain in her arms, Valsa standing over her with porridge. 

“If you are going to sleep all day, I am rescinding my offer.” 

Nesta rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned. “Since when do you deliver breakfast?” 

Valsa clicked her tongue. “Since the High Lady requested it.” 

Elain had woken by then, too, and she had one question. “Briar - how is she?” 

Another cluck, “She has seen a healer for the large wounds. Still more healing to be done, in many ways. It was decided to have her stay with the Winter Court for now. They are  _ better  _ for that sort of thing.” 

Nesta nodded. She didn’t know the winter court that well, or at all, really, but she understood how an Illyrian war camp might not be the most comfortable environment. Nesta appreciated the no-nonsense, work-or-leave attitude, but it wouldn’t do for someone in need of a gentle touch. From Valsa’s tone, however, she disagreed. 

Nesta hid her smile with a bite of oats. She cut a glance at Elain who equally seemed to be aware of the camp-mother’s opinion. Valsa shook her head. “Finish up and come to the healer’s tents. We have work to do.” 

After their breakfast, well, lunch, Nesta and Elain headed back to their tents. Both of them were still in their nightgowns, so they stole two of Feyre’s cloaks to get back. The camp was fully alive. With 5 courts all camping side by side, the idea of a quiet camp was simply a fantasy from here on out. 

Nesta dropped Elain off at her tent. “I’ll be back tonight.” 

“No.”

Nesta tilted her head. Elain took a breath. “I-I want to go to the Dawn Court tents, check on Azriel.” 

“I can take you.” 

“No.” Elain said it more emphatically this time. “I- I need to do this on my own.” 

Nesta didn’t believe her for a second, but it didn’t look like Elain wanted to speak further on it, so Nesta nodded and let her go get changed. Herself, Nesta changed into another linen gown and apron, simple and good to work in. She fixed her hair up and put her boots on. 

On her way over to the medical tents, she did pass Amren’s tent. Well, she wasn’t  _ entirely _ sure it was Amren’s tent. That was just a decent guess based on how no one could walk within 3 feet of it without running into a barrier - as a few unsuspecting fools did, much to the enjoyment of the small pack of soldiers milling about and watching. Nesta held her own laughter to herself. 

The ladies in the Illyrian medical tents were not quite welcoming, but that was why Nesta liked it. No questions, no sentimentality, they just threw an empty bucket at her and told her to start collecting the used bandages to sort. Some bandages would be saved, cleaned and used again as needed. Some were so filthy that there was no hope of reuse. Those would be boiled down for pulp and sold to Velaris’s book binders. It was a disgusting, thankless, and necessary job. Nesta did not complain. She just got to work. 

When she had sorted through the bandages from the first round of changes, it was time for baths. Some of the patients here couldn’t move yet, and most could not walk, so the camp-mothers bathed them where they lay. Nesta figured she’d be a water runner again, but to her surprise she was called out to join Valsa by the potions. She approached the old woman standing over a vat. 

“Are you sure you need me here?” Nesta asked. 

“I will tell you where you are needed, child. Stir for me.” 

“There’s nothing-” 

Valsa interrupted Nesta’s comment by scraping out large chunks of something thick and creamy into the pot. From the smell of it… 

“Is that fat?” 

“Good, yes - stir. Figure 8’s please, yes that’s it.” The chunks of fat began to melt into a greasy mixture almost immediately. Valsa kept adding more and more of the fat to the pot. The smell alone was enough to nearly force Nesta to swear off meat. When the old crone finally stopped adding fat, she picked up what seemed to be a leather wineskin. “Keep stirring, but keep gentle, we don’t want this splashing on you.” She emptied the liquid into the pot and reminded Nesta to not stop her motions. Nesta’s arm was already getting tired, but she nodded and kept going. 

After the water came herbs, all of which Valsa took the time to chop or grind while Nesta stirred. Some she recognized, rosemary, sage, but some she couldn’t place or had never seen. Valsa identified each for her. When she was done with this piece she began to scoop in dirt. This thickened the mixture significantly, and made mixing harder, but Nesta was ordered to not stop for several more minutes. 

“Done. Let’s get this into the pots.” Valsa had Nesta fetch the box of clay pots and the two of them worked to scoop the mixture into each. 

“What did we make?” Nesta finally asked. 

“Paste for the open wounds.”  _ Ah, right. _ Nesta had seen the medics and healers rub a similar looking mixture into flesh wounds before wrapping them. 

“Is it… is this a potion?” The other potions she had seen were thinner, glowing or endlessly flowing in their vials. This was so… plain. 

Valsa’s smile remained as she tilted her head. “It most certainly is.” She took out the small knife she kept on her belt and made a very shallow incision on her hand. As the blood began to bead up out of the cut, Valsa gathered some of the paste on her finger and rubbed it in. She held up her hand and closed each finger one at a time. When five seconds passed, she wiped off the mixture, and no wound remained.

Nesta was astounded. The process was so...mundane, she hardly realized that it was magical. “How- the lillywurt?” she tried to remember what all Valsa added that she didn’t recognize, what had to be the Fae-specific plants. 

“Yes, and the Canyonseed, and the ashwater. But this,” she pointed to her hand, “is you, child.” Nesta opened her mouth, confused and unsure. Valsa explained. “Potions are a different kind of magic. It is true that their nature is defined by the ingredients and relative portions, but their real power comes from the brewer. Their magic seeps into the potion as they make it, amplifying the effects of whatever you put in.” She patted Nesta’s shoulder. “This is quite a potent batch, as you can see. Thank you.” 

Nesta wasn’t sure if she was proud that she had helped create something useful or pissed that she had been used. 

* * *

After supper, Nesta was summoned to the High Tent with the High Lords, the Night Court Officers, and even Elain. They gathered around the large table. No one sat, with exception of Azriel who found a compromise for his injuries by leaning on a stool. Nesta floated to the back to stand with Elain, placing a hand on her shoulder by way of support, only to have her sister shy away from the touch. Nesta looked quizzically at her, but couldn’t see further before Helion spoke. 

“My scouts say Hybern is on the move as of this afternoon.” 

It wasn’t much of a surprise. The first rule of warfare, if your enemy knows where you are - don’t be there. What was a surprise was the direction he was going. No longer north, he marched due east. Elain and Nesta both sucked in a breath at the news. 

The lords and generals spoke about Hybern’s strategy. How he was creating a goose chase, using the river to exhaust their forces if they wanted to meet him in battle. But she knew better. All of that was convenient. But it wasn’t  _ why _ he marched east now. 

“Because we insulted him. Me… and my sisters,” Nesta grit her teeth through the words. Perhaps the Cauldron was happy to have such a petty and cruel master. 

Elain came to the same conclusion, saying out loud what even Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say. Maybe because she saw it all happen with that power of hers. “He’s going to march on the human lands- butcher them. To spite us.” 

Feyre caught up now. “I killed his priestess.” She looked to Nesta. “You took from his Cauldron,” and then to Elain. “And you… stealing you back was the final insult.”

The older lords grit their teeth. The ones who fought the bastard before knew their enemy, had grown accustomed to his brand of petty madness, assuring the younger lords that this is exactly what was expected. 

“Although,” Helion tilted his head, “ I’d say he’s assuming quite a lot about how much we care for the humans.” For as callous as he wanted to appear, Nesta had seen how he treated Briar, how he gave her his own clothes to protect her dignity. And when Rhysand made his pretty speech about how the Wall was down, about how their choices here would define the Fae as a people, Helion was the first to agree. And the rest followed suit. 

Now there was the next problem. They could rush, move their forces out now, but it still wouldn’t be fast enough to save the humans directly in their path. It had only been a week since they met with Nolan, there was no way everyone was moved to his estate yet. And there were the outliers, the other towns, the other villages in the path, too many people for even the Edessas, not when Hybern was turning to genocide  _ this _ quickly. 

“We winnow,” Feyre suggested. “We winnow out as many of them as we can before dawn.” 

“And where do we put them?” Helion asked. The same problem they had a week ago when the Wall came down. Where do you put that many refugees? Velaris was Feyre’s first inclination, but it was both too far and too full of people for that kind of influx. 

Tarquin piped up. “Then bring them to Adriata. I will send Cresseida back,” a nod to his advisor next to him. “Let her oversee them.” Adriata had already been targeted, and Summer had resisted Amaranthra most openly. The result was the dubious honor of most vacancies and an actual need for more people. Couple that with its proximity... it would work. 

Kallias objected, not because he didn’t care, but because he wasn’t sure if it was worth the cost. Getting the humans out would expend a lot of power, it would put them at a disadvantage if battle came before they had a chance to recover. But between Feyre and his own wife, he agreed it was a cost worth expending. 

“We’ll need to divide and conquer,” Helion suggested. “Each lord and going to separate areas.” 

Nesta stepped forward, “and you should take an advocate. Rhysand will have Feyre.” She nodded to her sister and then to Kallias, “Talk to Briar, having her with you will help convince humans to go.” She looked to her sister, who nodded. “Elain and I can go with two more.” 

“Passengers will slow winnowing,” Thesan argued. 

“By your own admission, you haven’t dealt with Humans in 500 years. You need someone who can speak the language,” Nesta countered. 

“Kallias has Briar, Rhysand has Feyre, I can take you, depending who Elain goes with, that still leaves one court without an ambassador,” Helion spoke evenly. It wasn’t lost on anyone that he claimed his sister already. 

Thesan flexed his jaw. “Elain should go with Tarquin. It might have been a while, but I at least have experience with humans.” 

Tarquin looked to Elain, who nodded at him. With her approval, he began to speak. “Then we should-” 

“I hope you voted to face Hybern in battle,” Amren said with the kind of authority only she could muster, striding into a meeting she had had the gaul to skip. 

Rhysand was used to her theatrics by now, and didn’t miss a beat. “We did, why?” 

“Because we need it as a distraction,” the little monster slammed the Book on the table and smiled at Feyre. “We need to get to the Cauldron, girl.” She then turned to Elain and Nesta. “ _ All _ of us.” 

_ I do like the messenger.  _

“You found another way to stop it?” Tarquin asked, seemingly also used to Amren’s presence. 

_ She loves destruction as much as I do.  _

Amren’s smile looked grim, a farce, not her usual wickedness as she nodded. “Even better. I found a way to stop his entire army.” They all started, but Amren put her hand up. “The Suriel was right. There is a spell to weaken it. The same spell will destroy its master in the process. But there is another.”  _ The second and penultimate pages. _ “The other will extend that destruction to his host.” She looked to Nesta, an apology already there, and turned back to Feyre. “But we already learned one of us is not enough to withstand the Cauldron without dying. The four of us together, however….” 

“We can,” Feyre completed. 

“But why not go now?” Thesan asked. “Sneak in now like you did last night.” 

“Last night was a fluke, a perfect confluence of chance. With Tamlin exposed, Ianthe’s death known, and the result of the break-in, there will be no getting near the Cauldron now,” Azriel sounded rough as he said it. 

One of Thesan’s generals piped up, “Then how-” 

“He will use the Cauldron on the battlefield,” Cassian looked ready to vomit at the thought, but there was no doubt. “He thinks he will have us trapped, and he will try to slaughter us with it. That is when…” 

“That is when we will have our opening.” Amren nodded. 

* * *

  
  


It was a fool’s plan, but the best they had. And they had no time to wait. As soon as they decided on battle strategies, they broke to begin the evacuation. Elain took Tarquin’s hand and followed back to the Summer Court troops. Kallias and Viviane went right to Briar, who upon hearing that Hybern was targeting the humans first didn’t even let them get the question out before asking, “How can I help?” 

Helion came up to Nesta. “You ready?” 

_ No.  _

“Let’s go.” 

First up for the human ambassadors was to talk to the lower lords and generals of their court, the ones they couldn’t be with. They reviewed exactly what they were to say, how to play into human’s beliefs.

“No glamours. Humans already believe you can’t lie, don’t let them catch you in one. Tell the truth about will face them - say it is Hybern who is coming to kill them. Say he seeks vengeance on humanity for the insults against him. Say the Children of the Blessed appealed to you to save humanity. They still may not believe you. They certainly won’t trust you. Try anyway. We will appeal to their lords, see if we can’t make it easier for you.” Nesta gave her speech to Helion’s men and nodded to the High Lord. He took her hand and disappeared them into the brightest daylight. 

“Humans sound like a pain,” he scoffed outside the first house. Nesta smirked at him. 

“No less than the High Lords.” 

Nesta took a breath and knocked on the first door. She had never seen Isaac Hale so surprised. She was hoping he, and all her other tenants, weren’t even there. When she voiced that concern, Rebekah came up behind him. 

“Most left, but we… it was hard to move with the kids.” She held one on her hip even as she talked to them. “We thought- we thought you died when-” 

Nesta explained what happened, in detail. And they listened. And they believed her. All of her remaining tenants did. They all willingingly, if begrudgingly, took a Day Court Fae’s hand and let themselves be carried away. 

“What?” Nesta had felt Helion’s eyes on her. 

“Nothing. Nothing,” he looked away and then muttered. “Should have expected it from your performance at the meeting.” 

Nesta did not let herself linger after clearing out the handful of families left on the estate. She knew if she did, if she let herself look out at this place that was once hers, she would not be able to move. She made a special effort not to turn back and look at the house as Helion winnowed her around. They had more families to visit, different estates. She couldn’t freeze now.

Darius MacDonald didn’t know her well. But he listened. And when she was done he nodded to her and gathered his staff. He made them listen, too. Each one was sent to a household on his land, and to tell the tenants their lord commanded they go. Some still resisted, but they got most out easily. The Flannaits threatened to kill them on site, but when Nesta said her name, they listened. They did not send out their staff to warn their people, but they did give sealed orders for the Day Court to show their people, telling them to trust these Fae for now. The Koffields didn’t believe them, and they had to winnow them out by force. But Nesta stayed behind to keep watch and while she was waiting for Helion to return, the staff approached her. 

“We’ll go tell the others,” the housekeeper said. 

“You believe me?” Nesta asked. The young woman nodded. 

“Jenny was a friend. And she always said good things about you, that you were a good mistress. But she also said… she also said you seemed to be fighting a war when you thought no one was looking.”

The staff murmured in agreement, and when Helion returned, they travelled to the houses with his lords and generals to speak on their behalf. 

They went to another dozen estates that night. And it happened over and over. Where the lords failed to believe her and needed to be forced away, the staff spoke up. They knew Jenny. Or they knew Connor. Or they knew Henry. Or they knew Lionel. 

She never fooled her staff. Not once. They made sure their friends and their friends’ friends knew the Archerons were fighting, dealing with the fae in some covert fashion, but that they were good, and they were trustworthy. And more than that, if the word ever came, they should listen. 

Helion was panting, along with most of his court. But there was one more estate, one more family. She was surprised when she smelled the fireplaces roaring here. She had thought they would be the first to evacuate to the Edessa Estate. 

Nesta took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy ornate door. The old housekeeper opened up, gasping as she saw who was standing out on the doorstep. She didn’t recognize Nesta, but noted the ears, the grace, she backed away from them, as so many others did. Behind her Mr. Rutland was gasping, his face going from fear to anger. 

“You-” 

“Mr. Rutland, it’s me Nesta, please-”

“NESTA?” The voice was one Nesta knew well, but she had never heard it so… active. Rushing from deeper in the house, Tabitha Rutland rammed into a stunned Nesta Archeron, throwing her arms around her in a crushing hug. “We thought you died, and then.” She backed up slightly, “What about Elain? Is she-” Tabitha cut off her own words as she took in Nesta’s new face and hard expression. She did not, however, let go, keeping her hands on Nesta’s upper arms. “Nesta, what-” 

“Tabitha, Mr. Rutland, please allow me to explain.” Nesta removed Tabitha’s hands and took a breath. 

“I don’t care what Fae like-”

“Shut up!” Tabitha snapped at her father, “Nesta’s not just Fae you and know it!” She turned back to Nesta, “Graysen and old man Nolan already told us everything.”

“Then you know the threat is Hybern,” Nesta said. Tabitha nodded. “Why aren’t you at the-”

Mr. Rutland cut in this time, sneering at his eldest. “She turned him down and doomed us all.” 

Tabitha glared back at her father. “I did no such thing. All our tenants are there, as is everyone else.  _ You  _ are still welcome to go at any time.  _ I  _ however, won’t be leaving until I have to, not with how they look at me and George.” 

“He’s here?” Nesta asked. 

“Upstairs asleep,” Tabitha answered quickly. 

“Gather him and let’s go. Hybern’s army marches, and they are marching this way. We are taking as many people as we can North for safety.” 

“Thank you for the warning, but I’d rather take my chances with  _ my  _ family at Nolan’s compound,” Mr. Rutland was adamant. It wasn’t preferred, but it was better than staying in place. 

“You are welcome to, of course, but I suggest you-” 

“I’ll go with you,” Tabitha said. “Let me grab George. It’s just the four of us here. Ms. C, follow me,” she gestured to her housekeeper to follow her as she made her way back into the house. 

Her father was stunned, absolutely floored. “Tabitha, you can’t be serious, trusting the Fae-” 

“It’s  _ Nesta, _ father. She’s hardly Fae.” 

“Her ears beg to differ,” Helion added dryly. Tabitha finally turned to acknowledge him, having ignored the High Lord the whole time. 

“No Fae would request a birthday party in an ashwood grove.” Tabitha looked back to Nesta, “I don’t care what form she takes.” 

Tabitha wasted no time, coming back down the stairs with her sleeping son into her arms and the two bags of things she had prepped for them already. She had been planning this. Maybe not this exact scenario, but she planned her evacuation. Their housekeeper had a similar bag, though she decided to stay with her lord, and both promised to ride to the Edessa estate immediately. They might have forced them to come with if the rest of the family wasn’t already there. 

“Are you sure?” Nesta asked before they left. “There is still time for you to join your family.” 

Tabitha stroked the ginger locks of her sleeping boy. He was so small. “Does he have a better chance with you or the Edessa’s?” 

“We don’t expect Hybern to get as far as the Edessa estate,” Nesta offered. 

“And if they do?” Tabitha met her eye, her hand still supporting her son’s head. “If they do make it that far?” 

“That is why we are here.” Helion nodded solemnly.

“I can’t save my sister or my father or my mother,” Tabitha breathed. “But I can save my son.” 

Helion put his hands on both of them and winnowed to Adriata, now bustling with refugees in varying states of panic. An organized panic, though. Briar had been clever, she told them to have Thesan get the Children of the Blessed and to get them first. It was easier, as they needed almost no convincing. And once they were here, the Children were more than willing to help the benevolent Summer Gods herd hundreds of scared non-believers. 

Nesta watched as Tabitha took in her surroundings. She wanted to stay, to speak with her and ask flat out why. Why had Tabitha changed her mind about Graysen? Was it because of Elain? Was it the war? Was it George? She wanted to see her last friend in the world settled into her lodgings here. Hell, a part of her wanted to take Tabitha and George with her to the camp, just to have a small piece of her former life. 

But it was better to have her here. They march to war tomorrow. And it was better for everyone if this was goodbye. 

  
Helion winnowed them back to camp. He and his men were exhausted, but you had to respect the grace with which he hid his exhaustion. His brow was sweaty, his breaths shallow, but the man did not let it show any other way. 

“Thank you,” Nesta bowed her head to him. 

He smiled back. “From what the others looked like with their cargo, I say we had the easiest time of it.” 

“We got households that happened to know me,” Nesta dismissed. 

“And they all listened,” he countered. “If you ever get tired of the Night Court, you are welcome to spend some time in Day. The girl and her boy can come as well.” 

Nesta smiled, remembering the libraries his Court was famous for. “I’ll think on it.”

* * *

It was midnight by the time they were done winnowing everyone back and forth. It was the deadline they had set. Any time after that and they were likely to run into raiding groups. Also- the Lords needed to rest. The troops would move out before dawn, winnowing to the empty Archeron Estate and marching west to meet Hybern. Nesta made her way to her tent, ready to collapse into the cot and curl up and repress any thoughts that they might not make it. 

Nesta wasn’t surprised to see someone waiting outside her tent. That it was Amren… that surprised her. 

“Not sleeping tonight?” 

“Will you be?” 

Nesta smiled. No, she wouldn’t. Amren held up a bottle of beautiful, red liquid. Brandy. “Care to share a drink?”

Amren poured them two fingers each. Only two fingers, stressing they weren’t doing this to get drunk, but to take the edge off. She hardly spoke after that, taking one sip and staring at a spot on the floor. After a near minute, she sucked down her drink in a single gulp and left. It was… it was almost as if the drink was an apology. The closest thing she could muster, anyway. For forcing Nesta to reach out to the Cauldron, for forcing her to touch it again tomorrow. 

Cassian did join her for the few hours they had that night. Another silent encounter. He just came in and… hugged her. Tight. He didn’t let go until it was morning and time to head out, kissing her forehead before he left. 

All of that was… weird. But none of it, none of it, was as weird as the chatty encounter of her morning. 

Nesta stood at the top of her favorite hill, standing under her old maple tree, looking out at her estate. She was just here. She had come at dusk the night before with Helion to evacuate the remaining residents. And since then Hybern came to burn it all to the ground. The house was destroyed, the garden trampled, the homesteads, the farmhouses, the grainery she built… some of it was still burning when she arrived, darkening the soft dawn sky. The smell of animal blood hung in the air. From her hill, she could see her sheep - her little clouds - covered in red from their slit throats. 

_ I got the people out.  _

_ It’s just things. I got the people out.  _

_ It’s just… _ Nesta wiped away the tears that began to fall as she watched all that she owned burn. 

“I never imagined you crying.”

Nesta turned her head. She didn’t know that voice. What she saw she had no words for. No one else seemed to notice it, because if they did, they would be running. It was 7 feet tall, a large, buff looking human until you got to its shoulders, where any resemblance to humans ended. There three dog heads sat, shifting their gaze in different directions, but always focusing one on her. It wore only a single dirty, tattered cloth tied about its waist. 

“She cries often, Carver.” 

This voice Nesta knew. She heard it in the library. The mass of black and claws came up next to her, rubbing against her side like a cat before undulating around and settling next to the dog-headed beast. Since her last encounter, she had been told its name is Bryaxis. 

“Why are you here?” She asked. It was supposed to be sealed down there. 

“We were recruited,” all three heads spoke at once. “Your little sister thought we might turn the tide.”  _ Carver. _ She was there when they fought over it. Releasing the Bone Carver from prison, how it seemed impossible because of some mirror. Apparently it wasn’t impossible. 

“Hee hee hee, we scare the rest, so we are hidden,” Bryaxis form pulsed as it laughed. “Not from you though, never from you.” 

The dog-headed one, The Bone Carver, stepped closer. “Of course not. She is like.” All of its heads twitched at once. “You can even see my true form. How interesting. Is that from the Wall?” One head sniffed her, she stiffened. “Stole it did you? Stole? Or Gifted?” The Bone Carver finished its inspection and stood over her, all three heads watching closely. “No… no, no… not the Wall. I was so curious, but the answer is so simple.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“See?” Bryaxis preened and slithered up. “See how little she knows?” 

“It is not entirely her fault. A true witch has not been born in millennium, I do not think one was ever born to  _ humans  _ before.” The heads popped in hideous laughter. Bryaxis gasped a shrill noise and joined in. “She even had the Witch-Sight, and he still threw her into the  _ Cauldron _ !” 

“What are you talking about.” Nesta spoke more firmly this time. These monsters were inspecting her, judging her, but they were not going to hurt her. She need not fear them. 

The Bone Carver relaxed back. “One of us was born into the world. First 23 years ago, then 3 months ago. Prythian called for you, it trembles under you now. And the Wall thought it could stop it, arrogant in its youth.” 

Bryaxis slithered around her once more. “Fools abound. Throwing a  _ witch _ in the Cauldron.” It paused to run its claws lightly down her cheek. “How much did you take? How deep did you create your well, getting drunk on its power? How did you shape it, dreaming of vengeance?” 

“We know how you shaped it. What you dreamed of as you went under.” The Bone Carver tilted its head. “Princess of Rot.” 

“Child of Destruction.” 

A young woman, pale and clawed with a smile too large for her face and eyes open wide as they had no lids stood in Elain’s garden, unknown to the others before her. Nesta recognized the woman as she sang to her, she certainly matched the description in the old book. Nesta couldn't look away as Stryga the Weaver sang, “God of Decay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Feyre explicitly states she doesn't remember her healer and also says she sends a random camp-mother to get food. So what happened here: Valsa comes up to check on Feyre. The High Lady, not being able to tell camp-mothers apart, asks the /head medic/ to go get breakfast. Valsa can't say anything because the HIGH LADY said to do the thing. 
> 
> 2\. question: Sarah, did we not, in cannon, 7 days prior, get Graysen and Nolan to agree to take people in? Why do we need to evacuate? I mean I invented reasons, I'm happy to. But honey. baby. Did you not check that was happening? REALLY? Also I added on a bunch there because it made sense to use Briar, the Children, Nesta, and Elain for the evac. Like c'mon. 
> 
> 3\. Darius redemption arc because I really made him a punching bag in the early chapters and he don't deserve that. Also whoops I accidently gave Tabitha a complete character arc. huh. 
> 
> 4\. WITCH STUFF- I HAVE SO MUCH LORE MAPPED OUT. And I realize I can't just lore dump in the fic itself because bad writing and none of the characters who know the truth would ever say it flat out, so if you want I can make a special chapter that explains it.
> 
> 5\. Oh no. Oh no. Guys. Guys. I only have two chapters left. This is it.


	49. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle wages around them, and Nesta remembers some key moments of her and her father's relationship.

Nesta knew the moment she realized her father was weak. Her mother had hissed it at him for years, in between drinks and shots and doses, when her anger boiled over, she spat the words at him.  _ Weak. Stupid. Useless. _ But she thought that was just her mother’s temper. She always had a temper. Nesta was on the receiving end of it enough, when she was caught running, shouting, speaking out of turn, letting her own temper flare. Whenever she wasn’t the perfect lady her mother groomed her to be. Her mother’s cruel words for her husband tended to follow his stupider ideas, “My business partner wants to manage more of the money,” or “I think we should stop focusing on the estate, we don’t need its income.” 

They were just ideas, things you bring up as a bad plan to discuss and arrive at a good plan. Her mother just had no patience for it, that’s all. And he understood that. He loved her and took care of her, and he only suggested the ideas because she was sick and couldn’t do everything anymore. That’s all. He wasn’t weak. He was her gentle, indulgent dad. The one who read to her all night until she fell asleep. The one who laughed when she came in with a torn skirt and bruises on her arms from stick-fighting a stable-boy. The one who snuck her away to change before anyone else saw. The one who looked the other way when he came home and she was on the roof. 

He wasn’t weak. He was kind. Right? 

So why. Why wasn’t he listening now? 

“Dad, look.” She had found the book deep in the library, not in the medical section she spent months pouring over, but in the Myths and Legends section. “Look. It talks about a Fae having the growths mother has. They start mild and get worse, get more painful.” 

“Nesta you can’t know if that’s the same.” 

“The pearls sat under her skin. Individually, physically, they caused no harm, no pain. But they leeched poison into her system. Not all at once, but slowly over time. A curse of a slow death. It was only when we excised the pearls that the curse was lifted.” She looked up at him. “Doesn’t that sound like mother?” 

“The doctors all agree Nesta. It’s too risky to remove the growths now. And even when we did in the past, they only came back.” 

“But dad, listen. ‘The excision was long and hard. We had to be careful, so careful, if we did not get all of the pearls, if we left even one behind, the curse remained, and more would form.’ We didn’t get it all. But  _ they _ can. Dad, if we go above the Wall, we might be able to -”

“No.” 

“But Dad!” Nesta rose from her chair, leaning over the work table she’d been reading at. Her father looked down at her with a frown and a sigh.

“No, sweetheart. Your mother has been through enough. The best we can do now is keep her comfortable.” 

“But she is not comfortable! She’s in  _ pain!” _ Nesta was yelling now. “We can help her! We can-”

“Nesta, you can’t know what you are asking,” her father tried to sooth her, to get her to calm down. 

“There are healers above the Wall! They can cut out the growths, they can fix her! She can be well again!” She was still raising her voice. Desperate to be heard, to be listened to. She was right. She knew she was. 

“It’s too dangerous, Nesta. Even if we found a healer, and even if they could fix her, they wouldn’t.” 

“You don’t know that!” She was shaking. “You don’t know that! They might say no. They might say yes!” 

“They might kill us.” 

“Isn’t it worth the risk?” she asked. 

That her father didn’t answer that last question was the worst part. He just closed her book. “Enough dreaming, Nesta.”

* * *

“Nesta.” When Elain said her name, the monstrosities around her scattered. Her sister approached through the remains of her garden. She looked upset. Being here certainly would do that. Goodness knows Nesta was feeling emotional today. “It’s time to go.” 

This was it then. Today, it would all be over one way or another. They’d either defeat Hybern and save the world or lose and die. Victory or Desolation. Suffering or Peace. She walked over to Elain and reached for her hand, giving it a little squeeze. “We can do this Elain, we have to.” 

Her sister squirmed out of the touch. Something she had never done, but seemed to be doing more and more. “Elain?” 

“It’s nothing. Let’s go,” Elain turned away. Nesta grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn back. 

“What is it?” If she looked like that… did she already see the outcome? Does today end poorly? Do they need to change plans? 

Elain squirmed out again. “I’m just nervous.” 

“Did you see something?” When Elain didn’t answer, keeping a stoic gaze down, she knew it was a yes. “What was it? Should we tell the others? There might be time to change the strate-” 

“No,” Elain said with more strength. “No it’s not about that-” 

“Then what is it? Elain, it’s me, you can tell me anything.” 

Elain looked at her with pain in her eyes. She scrunched up, breathing deep, building confidence for whatever she was saying.  _ Did she have a vision? Does this end poorly? _ “I saw how mother died.” 

The words came out and the air left Nesta’s lungs. She was weightless and shackled to the ground all at once. She heard the monstrosities that scattered away in Elain’s presence creep closer now, listening in, curious and excited. She heard Elain speak on, but the words felt so far away, back in the garden, not in that horrible bedroom where she was now.

“I always… thought it was weird how she talked to us, said her final goodbyes, and then died in her sleep. She had been sick for so long, but then again, she had been  _ that _ sick for that long. It… the Cauldron knew. It knew I wanted to know. It-it  _ showed  _ me,” Elain’s voice was breaking, thick with the tears that were starting to fall.

Nesta reached out for her sister, to hold her, touch her, make her understand. “Elain, she was so sick. She- she wasn’t there anymore. And when she was it was just-” 

“I know,” the words came out hard as Elain twisted away again. “I remember it, maybe not as well as… but I remember. I know she- I know she asked, I saw her, she practically forced you, but it’s still-” her sobs broke off her sentence. Shaking her head, Elain’s tears were falling hard now. “I didn’t want to talk about this now, not when we have to-” She looked down, letting her words die in her throat. 

“Then we can later,” Nesta offered. “I promise. We can talk about it after the war is over.” 

But Elain looked up to Nesta, resolved to say something. Everything was contorted, everything was in  _ pain _ , but she asked her question. “What if I didn’t get better?”

“Elain. No.” Nesta reached out one last time, and was avoided. 

“Can you say that? Can you really say that? If I didn’t get better you wouldn’t have given up on me, too?” 

“But you  _ did  _ get better.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Nesta clenched her jaw. “You and mother- it wasn’t the same.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it wasn’t already killing you,” Nesta breathed through her nose, she could feel her face redden in anger and grief, but she held it together. “It wasn’t that mother wasn’t getting better, she was getting  _ worse _ . Mother wasn’t going to live, she was just going to die that slow, horrible death.” 

Elain studied her for a long moment. “You don’t regret it.” 

That’s what she said. But not what she meant. Of course Nesa regretted it. She regretted that her mother was so sick she couldn’t breath easily, or get through a day without blasting her mind away with opium and poppy milk. She regretted that every time her mother coughed, the tumors tore more of her up and blood came out into the tissues. She regretted the whole damn situation. But- “I’d do it again,” she did not regret her choice that day. 

She hated how much Elain’s expression- just for a moment- looked like her father’s had that day. She schooled it into something else so quickly. “Can I- can we talk about this later?” 

* * *

They marched all day. Not winnowing, marching. This was the first time the whole warmshe’d actually seen the army haul ass. Of course it was the day they were going to be facing down Hybern. It seemed all tempers were running hot. Cassian had spent the better part of the morning picking different grumbling commanders to lay into. 

Nesta didn’t work today. It wasn’t her choice. Especially after her conversation with Elain, she wanted to work. She wanted the distraction. But it wasn’t to be. “You’re fighting today, child.” Valsa had said, only to be echoed by Nonnie and all the ladies near her. “March at the front and rest until then.” Valsa gave her shoulder a squeeze. “There will be plenty to do tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.” She let go of Nesta’s shoulder and shooed her away. “If you want work so bad, go win this war and I’ll give you plenty in Illyria.” The other women echoed the sentiment as Nesta left them. 

Perhaps it was them, that more than anything else, that let Nesta finally put on the leathers she had been given. The Illyrians women accepted without question. She could put on their clothes and fight with their men. No fanfare, no complaints, no fretting over the bra. She just climbed into the back of that damn wagon with Feyre and put them on. She jumped down still strapping her knife belt to herself. The outfit was surprisingly comfortable and remarkably easy to move in. It was modest in every way that it was scandalous. Nothing was showing, she’d shown more skin in some of her ball gowns. But it was form fitting. Her legs and ass were fully outlined in a way they never had been. 

She would have been shy about it, but only Elain seemed to notice the revealing nature of the outfits. Even Cassian, usually jumping on the chance to flirt via obvious ogling, was all business- caring more about whether she remembered his quick lesson on using her knife. Elain however, turned into a tomato at the sight of them.  _ I guess she never saw the Hewn City outfits. _ Nesta tried to talk to her, to assure it was fine, but she immediately turned to Viviane, who piped up with an offer of her clothes. Elain thanked her, still embarrassed, but at least outfit had a loose surcoat that went nearly to her knees. 

They stood at the edge of the battlefield, looking up the rolling hills of their homeland, smelling the salty air of the bay, watching as Hybern and his army began to pepper the green field with black armor. She felt her blood run cold as they appeared. Cassian patted her on the shoulder and gave her a grim smile before turning to Elain. 

He removed one of his knives and handed it to her. “You should have one, too.” Elain didn’t even see it, she was still looking behind him, to the army coming to kill them all. The army that had taken her hostage just days before. She was so still. Cassian just kept holding out his knife, calling her name to get her attention with little success. 

Azriel nudged his brother aside. He drew his beautiful obsidian blade, the one that reflected light like shadow, Nesta had never seen him without it. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today- so I want you to.” Elain opened her mouth to speak, but Azriel spoke through. “It has never failed me once.” He took her hand and slipped the blade into it. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” She slowly, gently, closed her fingers around it. And as he did, Nesta realized something. 

_ He knew. _

He knew Elain had a knife once. A beautiful ashwood blade, gifted to her by the love of her life. And when it came time to use it, she couldn’t. She hesitated and it cost them everything. So he gave her a knife that will always find home. Elain took a breath and nodded to him, keeping their eyes locked together as she firmed her grip. Azriel nodded back and let go, leaving her with a little piece of survival. 

Amren and Morrigan approached them, both dressed for battle. Amren matched Nesta in her fighting leathers, Morrigan wore the same golden armor Nesta had seen her in before. Amren stopped next to her and slapped her back,  _ hard,  _ causing Nesta to sputter a bit. “Look alive, girl. The speeches start now.” 

On cue, Rhysand stepped forward, walking in front of them and taking the time to meet each of their eyes before settling on Amren. “Do you want the inspiring one or the bleak one?” 

“We want the real one,” Amren answered. 

He didn’t speak of hope. He didn’t speak of victory. He didn’t speak of the glory of battle. He merely thanked them. Deep, heartfelt gratitude to each of them for the lessons and hundreds of years of friendship. It was touching, but there was that twinge. That twinge Nesta felt at that first dinner. A separation between this perfect, ancient family and the sisters, even as he turned to address them. 

“We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

He took Cassian’s hand, and Cassian took Mor’s, who took Azriel’s, who took Amren’s, who took Nesta’s, who took Elain’s, who took Feyre’s, and Feyre completed the circle. It felt like an empty gesture. Nesta took the hands and listened to the words, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong. That she was an interloper to this intimate family moment. 

* * *

“How bad is it?” Nesta leaned against the study door while her father ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” he swirled the amber liquid around in his glass. 

“How bad?” Nesta crossed her arms despite how the fabric pulled on her shoulders. This dress didn’t fit anymore, not with the changes puberty brought, but she still hadn’t been given the leave to go commission new ones. 

“What, are you going to fix  _ this _ yourself, too?” 

Nesta tightened her jaw. She hadn’t had a peaceful conversation with her father in nearly two years. “How bad?” 

“The ships never reached port.” 

The news didn’t surprise Nesta. She had told him it was a bad plan. She had told him it was a dangerous, stupid, risky plan. “We should have just sold the house,” she answered. “Downsized to something modest. I told you-” 

“I don’t want to hear about downsizing from you,” he dragged his gaze up from the glass. “You threw such a fit over those books, would you have accepted a smaller house?” 

“You didn’t sell our library for your debts. You sold them to punish me for mother,” she countered. “And a townhouse would be fine. Something reasonable and respectable would be-” 

Her father snorted into an ugly laugh and slammed his cup down so hard it shattered, splashing the alcohol all over his beautiful mahogany and leather desk, soaking his ledgers. “A townhouse.” he laughed harder. “A  _ townhouse! _ We’ll be lucky to have a roof after this.” 

“How much?” Nesta stepped farther into the room. “How much did you lose?” She watched his teeth grind and that told her enough. “Fine, the business goes under. We can still sell the house. That will give us plenty of money, we get a small place, maybe a farm, and rebuild. We can do-” 

“We can’t sell the house.” 

“What do you-” she realized what he had done in an instant. “You put the  _ house _ up as collateral?” 

He dug down into his stubbornness. “I had to commission the ships with something.”

Before she knew what she was doing she picked up the brass nameplate on his desk and lodged it at his head. She bagan shouting “You  _ stupid, reckless-” _

“I am still you  _ father! _ Watch your-”

“I don’t give a fuck!  _ Y _ ou put the  _ house  _ up? How  _ stupid  _ do you have to be? What are we going to do now? I can’t believe how right mother was! She was the only reason-” 

“ _ Don’t you talk about your mother!”  _ he roared at her. 

“She was right,” Nesta spat at him. “You are weak.” He looked ready to yell at her again but she kept talking, glaring down where he sat. Whatever he saw in her face, in her eyes, it shut him up. He cowered back down as Nesta spit venom at him. “That’s why she asked me. You don’t have the spine to do what needs to be done. Weak, stupid, useless. You can’t even take care of your family can you?” 

“You really are just like her,” he nearly hissed the words, shaking his head. “A monster in a lady’s skin.” 

* * *

“You actually did it,” Amren whispered, horrified at the sight before her. Three monsters, three gods, three… whatever they were stood at the front lines of their army. The Bone Carver and Bryaxis had been Feyre’s machinations, Stryga, the result of Rhysand's cunning. And it  _ worked. _ Those  _ things _ broke Hybern’s lines immediately, each wiping out entire battalions with little effort and no small amount of glee. 

Rhysand was smiling,  _ smiling _ at the horror they were watching as he raised a hand out to the battlefield. And in an instant, Nesta remembered the horror stories around him, around his Court and his kind. She watched speechless as 500 soldiers just burst into red mist and shrapnel. Where the sight seemed to halt Nesta’s breath, it was the signal for others. Azriel let out a blast of blue while Cassian led the joint Illyrian and Peregryn forces in the skies above them. He pounded into the opening his lord and brother created, unleashing their violence from the skies. 

Hybern countered with his poisoned arrows, but it where the faebane slipped through a magic shield, it was still useless against the classic metal ones. He led them forward, swooping low enough to strike and retreating up. Elsewhere, the other Courts met with Hybern’s forces on foot. The Lords unleashed their own power, their men clashed with the enemy. The noise, the screams, the scraping of metal, the crunching of bones, the shrieking laughter of joy from Bryaxis… it was overwhelming and horrifying. 

And she loved it. 

The chaos, the destruction she saw today was not the horrible panic and fear she felt last time. No one was making a crazed one-man charge. They were fighting together, on equal footing, even slightly with an upper hand. It should still repulse her, terrify her. It had the first time she saw it, as it was now terrifying Elain. War should scare her. But after the shock of it wore off, she could feel her blood sing and bones resonate. Screw cunning and covert plans. This wanton destruction and violence was  _ perfect. _

And it only got better. She let herself get lost in the cacophony of it all, even when it seemed to not be going as in their favor as they wanted, as the faebane arrows found more and more marks. She vaguely heard Amren and Rhysand fighting over whether they should go to the Cauldron yet. But she wasn’t listening to them. She was listening to the whistle of arrows through the air, the wet, metallic  _ shunk _ they made as they plunged into bodies, the march of footsteps, the horn- 

The horn? 

Over the Northern horizon, another host with three banners broke over the hills. The orange flame of autumn, the green flowers of spring, and the cobalt badger of Edessa. The two Courts they’d written off and the humans they never considered. A burning hole opened next to where they watched the action, and Eris appeared out of it, dressed in glorious silver armor and a magnificent red cloak. 

“We thought you could use some help.” 

Nesta scanned the front lines, spotting Beron and Tamlin at the helms of their forces. But it was the human forces she checked over, carefully. Graysen was there, riding atop a massive stallion, but he was not leading. Jurian was. They wasted no time, charging ahead to meet the unsuspecting flank of Hybern’s army.  _ Outstanding.  _

Eris straightened out, transforming from a cocky prince to a controlled soldier. “Tamlin wants orders, Jurian does, too.” 

“What of your father?” Rhys asked. 

“We’re taking care of a problem.” 

On cue, circles of fire appeared atop several of the wagons strewn throughout Hybern’s army. One by one, each erupted into dazzling blue flame. “The faebane,” Feyre whispered. Eris tilted his head. 

“We had some inside information.” 

Amren shoved Nesta and Elain forward. “Now. Quick and quiet as shadows.” She was right. There would not be a better chance. They had to move now, while Hybern was still trying to figure out why Jurian betrayed him. The only question was how to get there, but they had help there, too. While the Carver and Bryaxis chewed - quite literally- through the front lines, Stryga was making a path of destruction right to the Cauldron. 

They could follow her. With her flashy brutality, even if they followed close, they would still be second priority to a death-god draining Hybern’s men to nothing. Cloaked and glamoured, Nesta took one final look where Cassian led his troops before she, her sisters, and her teacher rushed forward into the fray. 

_ She’s here. _

It was as though stepping onto the battlefield had been the trigger. As soon as her foot set down in the path of blood and muck left by Stryga, the Cauldron boiled, and her power boiled with it. She tried to stay up right as her well rose, but the larger effort was in suppressing it, not letting it murder Amren in front of her, took precedent. It was worse, so much worse than the Wall. It was so close. The rush of power threatened to tear her apart, it made her gag and vomit from the strain. 

_ Let’s get those flyers first, shall we? _

_ No. _ Nesta fought to get her head up. She searched the sky, and sure enough, there he was, just where he had been. Leading the flying forces. No. No. No. No. 

_ “CASSIAN! _ ” She screamed his name. Through the torrent of stolen power she reached down and found that stupid bond. She wrapped it around her hand and  _ pulled _ , screaming that stupid bat’s name over and over and over. There was no time, dammit. There was no time. He needed to move, he needed to get out. “ _ CASSIAN!” _ She shouted one final time before the power flared so hard, so cold, so hot, her mind went momentarily blank and all she could do was hold on. 

And then it was done. Nesta let out a breath and looked up. Ashes. The Cauldron had ripped into the Illyrians, turning half into ash in an instant. She huffed and huffed, watching as the black snow drifted peacefully down to coat the stunned foot soldiers. There was no time. No time to move them, to warn them. Just one. She could only save one.

_ The prisoner next. _

Again, Nesta was left writhing in the dirt as she grit her teeth and held on. There wasn’t as much of a build this time. It had rallied its power at once for the two back to back blasts. At least this one only had one target. Hybern unleashed the second shot right through his own forces, all to eliminate the three-headed dog that was breaking his formations. 

But that was it for now. The power was still roiling, still clashing tidal waves within, but it was content to stay in place for now. The Cauldron had been expended for those blasts. It would take time, not a lot of time, but enough, to refill. Nesta pressed a palm into the grass, trying to find the strength to force herself up and coming up short. Too much. She spent too much effort repressing it. She grit her teeth and tried again when the ground in front of her trembled. 

“What is it, what-” 

“It’s gone quiet again,” the sound of Cassian’s voice was enough for Nesta to finally find the strength to raise her head. He was one her in a moment, helping her to a seated position. He searched her face, looking for- she knew what he was looking for. If he didn’t know about the bond already, he sure as fuck did now that she used it to haul him out of the way. She felt his devastation and his anger run down the tether, it mixed with her own and was sent back. A never-ending feedback loop with one conclusion.  _ Hybern will pay.  _

The sound of heaving drew her attention. Elian was on the ground, emptying her stomach. Fear, terror.  _ Dammit.  _ She has seen this. She had seen the Illyrians die. And now she realized she was seeing it actually happen. Nesta needed to rally. She needed to find her strength again, get to Elain, tell her she can go back, they’d do it with just Feyre and Amren. They need to go  _ now _ , though. Before everyone was destroyed, before…

Another horn blasted on the horizon. 

They turned to the sea.

_ No.  _

Hundreds of ships sailed in from the west. All packed full with soldiers, all flying Hybern’s flag. “Fuck.” Nesta hissed. They had underestimated it. Hybern didn’t keep his entire army with him, he kept  _ half _ with him. 

“Fuck,” Amren echoed. “We might need to run, Rhysand.” 

But there was nowhere to run to. This was it. If they couldn’t end it here, then there would be no ending it. Rhysand understood, it seemed. He hardened, turning to Azriel and ordering he take the Northern Flank, then to Cassian, ordering he take the Southern. Buy them time to get the Cauldron, to end it. Azriel took off immediately. Cassian got up, pulling up Nesta with him. He squeezed her hand and stepped away, getting ready to launch himself as well, but stopping to turn back. “I’ll see you on the other side.” 

Nesta held back a sob as his wings shifted, ready to take him to the skies. This was goodbye. All that time, fighting him, fighting the damn bond, and  _ this _ was their goodbye. 

And then then another set of horns blasted. Not one. Not three. Dozens, Hundreds. Coming from the sea. Coming from the east. Foreign horns, unknown flags… Rhysand flew up with Feyre to look closer. Nesta threw herself onto Cassian and he took her to join them. 

Countless ships sailed on the horizon. But Nesta didn’t need to count them to know how many ships were in that armada. She knew. She knew the second she saw the flag flying on the forward bow of the flagship. A triple-pointed crown with two rings intersected. 

> _ A point for each of you, and the rings for your mother and I.  _

Nesta let out a sob. 10,000 ships. She had asked her father for 10,000 ships to save the people on this island. And he brought them. 

A dark Seraphim with blindingly bright wings rushed to them. And suddenly Nesta was face to face with another living legend. Drakon floated in front of them, teasing them about not asking for his aide. He and Miryam had been home the entire time, and they’d come the second they heard Hybern rose again. 

He explained to them it all. How he and Miryam were on their way, only to meet up with another armada, a slower, human one, led by Vassa. Feyre burst into tears, but Nesta held firm. 

“Who was found by-”

“Lucien,” Feyre interjected between her tears. 

“Who?” Drakon barely recognized the name. “Oh, the male with the eye. No. He met up with them later on- told them where to go. To come  _ now _ , actually. So pushy, you Prythian males. Good thing we, at least, were already on our way to see if you needed help.” 

“Who found Vassa.” Nesta needed him to finish the damn story. To get off his ridiculous tangent and tell her how her stupid father had done it. 

“He calls himself the Prince of Merchants. Apparently he discovered the human queens were traitors months ago, and has been gathering an independent human army to face Hybern ever since. He managed to find Queen Vassa- and together they rallied this army.” The cavalier tone Drakon used, the casual manner, did he know how ridiculous it sounded. How amazing it was? How her father had actually done it all? “He told me that he’s got three daughters who live here. And that he failed them for many years. But he would not fail them this time.” Drakon looked at Nesta, and then Feyre. He knew. He knew who they were. He smiled as he told them. “He named his three personal ships after them.” 

And sure enough, the three ships bearing the family crest were labeled the Feyre, the Elain, and the Nesta. Their father stood on her bow, as he had made his eldest daughter his flagship. That stupid asshole. That’s why he didn’t come back from Neva. He wasn’t convincing anyone of any war profiteering. He was raising his damn armada. 

Nesta cried despite herself. Drakon still smiled at her. “I take it you’re acquainted?” 

* * *

Feyre was collapsed on the ground, crying and hollow from where she gripped her father’s stomach. He was still yelling, gripping his knee, ignoring his youngest because he honestly couldn’t register her over the pain. Nesta had left Elain under the bed, hidden, when she left to check that they were still alone, and they were. But she didn’t give Elain the all-clear, not yet. 

Not now.

She hauled Feyre up first, she was limp and pliant, tears falling and voice horse. Nesta had  _ told  _ her. It was useless, they would never listen. Her father lost them too much money, it was only from the begging she’d done the day before that convinced them to only come for the knee and not his life. Nesta had them both in their room when they came, she tried to get Feyre to join her under the bed, she just  _ had  _ to go, had to be the hero.

_ What’s the fucking point? _

Nesta slapped her sister. Hard. Then shook her once. “Go to Elain, get yourself cleaned up. _ Stay in there this time. _ ” Feyre was still in shock, but she moved her feet. Nesta turned around. Gruesome. The knee was completely destroyed. No money, no doctors. Only the knowledge she had from all the books she searched through once upon a time. Nesta ripped the cloth off the table and fetched water. She ripped it into strips. With a grunt, she tried to lift her father up enough to get him on the chair. Nothing. He just kept gripping his leg and whimpering. 

Her nostrils flared and she huffed. She put her foot on his knee and applied weight, causing him to cry out. He finally looked at her. “Help me get your fat ass up,” she hissed at him. This time he was conscious enough to do it. Nesta supported on his bad side, and with his good leg, he stood. They hobbled over to the chair. Nesta dragged the table over and set his leg on it. 

They sat in silence as Nesta cleaned and wrapped the wound. The only sounds were his cries, all of which got bit off the moment Nesta glared at him. She probably wrapped the damn thing too tight, but whatever, it would hold his knee together for now. 

Finally, after she was done and sitting back, examining her handiwork, he spoke words. “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked. “How am I supposed to support you now? I can’t walk.” 

Nesta ran a hand through her hair. Her braid had long frayed loose. She’d have to get better at doing her own hair from here on out. She let the hand come to rest under her chin. “It’s not like you supported us much before.” 

* * *

They were still in the air. With Vassa incinerating Hybern’s ships and reinforcements coming in, it was time to act. They could go now, get to the Cauldron now, before it powered up again. But something… something didn’t seem right. 

_ She’s here _

_ Let’s get those flyers first, shall we? _

_ The prisoner next _

That wasn’t the Cauldron speaking. That was… Hybern. He knew she was here. He waited for her, and she had heard him through the Cauldron, because he didn’t leave it’s side. 

“Wait,” Nesta called out to Rhysand as he made to take Feyre back down to Amren. She hoped, she really hoped, that two would be enough. “Use me.” She said. “As bait.” 

“No,” Cassian’s response was immediate. Nesta ignored it though and explained her reasoning. 

“The king is waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.”  _ If my fucking father can find his courage then so can I.  _

“How,” Rhysand asked. 

“It goes both ways. He doesn’t know how much I took. And if… if I make it seem like I’m about to use the power, he’ll come running just to kill me.” 

Cassian snarled at the thought and the outcome he predicted, “He will kill you.” 

She squeezed the arm that held her airborne, not looking at him. “That’s...”  _ irrelevant.  _ She could feel the rage, their shared anger, their resolve. He wouldn’t let her do this alone. “That’s where you come in.” He had made her a promise once, let him honor it now. 

“No.” Nesta snorted at Rhysand’s immediate rejection. Not to her going, but Cassian accompanying her. 

He was ready to say more, to be the one to wait with Nesta, no doubt. “You’re not my High Lord. I may do as I wish. And since he’ll sense that you’re with me… you need to go far away, too.”  _ And Cassian won’t let me go alone, _ she left unsaid. 

Rhysand spoke only to Cassian. “I’m not letting you throw your life away for this.” Nesta angled her head.  _ But I can? _ Perhaps he already settled that this was her  _ reason _ . 

Cassian ignored him, watching the battle below where his brother-in-arms was manning the troops, and doing a fine job of it. “Az has control of the lines.” 

“I said  _ no. _ ” The High Lord of Night yelled. Nesta doubted very much that he’d ever forgive her for putting Cassian at risk like this, even as Cassian made it clear it was his choice to do this.

“It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron,” Cassian tightened his hug on Nesta, pulling her close. He hated this plan, but as she felt his resolve, he felt hers. This was happening, and he wouldn’t let her do it alone. Cassian made his thanks to Rhysand - for his sacrifice, for this mother’s kindness. Nesta could feel the finality in it. Neither of them were under the illusion that they could walk away unscathed. They were both as one prepared to die here. She had hauled him away from his troops, saved him when the rest died. This would be why. To give the rest a shot in hell of winning.  _ Victory at any cost. _

“Save some glory for the rest of us.” His lazy, cocky grin sounded in his voice and it broke Nesta’s heart. Rhysand started to argue again but Cassian ignored him, turning to Nesta. “Do you have what you need?” 

Nesta looked into those perfect hazel eyes, clear and determined, and nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.” This was it. This was it. She looked down to Elain. They should talk. They had so much left to talk about. So much she hid from her to make sure her smile was always real. It wasn’t fair to leave her this way, with only unanswered questions. Nesta wondered if she had seen it, this outcome. If that’s why she needed to ask now, before she never had the chance. Maybe it was a mercy. She’d never have to see her look the way her father did that morning. Nesta shook the thought. She looked up to Feyre. “Tell Father,”  _ I’m still not sorry. I still don’t forgive you. _ “Thank you.” 

She turned in Cassian’s arms and held on tight as he shot them to the woods to the right of the center of the battlefield. About 100 ft in was a clearing just big enough to accommodate this smaller conflict. With the woods around them, and then the whole battle beyond that, this was hidden enough that Hybern wouldn’t see any shenanigans at the Cauldron. 

He set her down. Nesta stepped away and called over her shoulder. “Distract him when he arrives. Get me a clear shot and do  _ not  _ be in the way.” 

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned back and closed her eyes and stood on the precipice of her well, looking down into the rumbling waters. It was excited, she realized. It responded to the Cauldron, but that’s because it wanted to play, too. It wasn’t trying to get home anymore. It was content here, with her as its master. She held out a hand, letting the bloodlust she’d been suppressing for three months out, using it as a lure to draw the power up, beckoning it to snake and coil around her fingers. She could feel the contented excitement. It was… bragging she realized. Calling not to the Cauldron, but to the power within. 

_ Come. Join me. This new home is its own master.  _

_ Glad you noticed.  _

_ She’s finally going to let us play.  _

_ Yes I am. _

_ She’s finally going to destroy.  _

_ No shields today.  _

_ My master is going to kill your master.  _

_ We will  _ **_eviscerate_ ** _ him.  _

Nesta snapped her eyes open, feeling the purr of her power, it was time now. She stared ahead, watching where it seemed to be pointing. “Get ready. He’s coming.” 

He was winnowing. She could  _ smell  _ it. The magic tearing it’s way through the air. It smelled like rust and rot and seaweed. She pushed the power to her hands, more and more. This was it. This would be her one shot and she’d exhaust everything to end him. She knew, she realized, she knew exactly where he was, where he would be. She could… she could blast him when he stepped out of the winnow. She might not even need Cassian. This might be even easier than she thought. 

She saw the hole in the universe open, and she raised her hand, starting to release her power when she saw it. 

What Hybern held in front of him. 

She grasped her power and held it back as she looked into her father’s terrified eyes while Hybern held his neck. 

“Nesta,” he said her name and all of the monstrous bloodlust faded from her, along with the power she’d drawn into her control. She could see and smell the human blood on him. It was fresh. Hybern… he massacred his crew to get her father here. That’s why it took so long. 

Hybern pet his neck with the fingers that held tight around it. “What a loving father. Bringing an entire  _ army  _ to save his daughters.” Nesta swallowed. That damn army. A year ago, a year ago she wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have killed him and hoped Elain would forgive her eventually. But he had to save them. He had to bring that army. He had to leave her the estate and buy her Clare’s land. Hybern turned her father to inspect him, making a show of it, like how you inspect a pup before you buy it. “So many things have changed since you were last home. Three daughters, now Fae,” he gestured to Nesta using her father’s neck. She winced. “One of them married  _ quite _ well.” 

But through all the taunts, the movements, her father did not acknowledge his captor. He just looked at his eldest daughter. “I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms,” he was so confident in it. Said it so readily. Said it as a goodbye. “And I am… I am so sorry, Nesta. My Nesta. I am so sorry for all of it.” 

He couldn’t mean that. He couldn’t mean all of it. She needed him to live. She needed him to stay alive and explain what he meant by  _ all _ of it. “Please,” she begged Hybern. “Please.”  _ Don’t kill him.  _

Hybern sneered. “What will you give me Nesta Archeron?”    
  


Her father was shaking her head, telling her not to. But she couldn’t. She… even if she could let him die.  _ Elain. _ She could never do that to Elain. Not again. 

“Will you give back what you took?” Hybern asked. 

“Yes.” No question. 

“Even if I have to carve it out of you?” His smile was so grotesque, so joyful. The possibility of bloodshed delighted him to no end. It made her skin crawl. But her answer… “Ye-” 

_ “D on’t you lay your filthy hands on my daught - _ ”

_ crack _

  
  


Once. A long time ago. Nesta sat at their breakfast table and imagined it. The sound her father’s neck would make when it finally snapped. It had brought her a sick sense of joy, the thought of that violence. But hearing it now. It wasn’t impressive like she thought. It was quiet, soft, it sounded the same as popping a joint, wholly unremarkable and horribly juxtaposed against the awful way his neck looked bent at that angle. 

Nesta walked forward to him. Hybern had dropped him on the ground and left to go fight Cass. Just left him there. Nesta knelt by his side. She straightened his neck. His eyes were still brown, still looked alive, even as they were unseeing. That was different. Lady Archeron had closed her eyes when she died. Her father had been so angry with her, then. He didn’t have a kind word for her for years after. But she was his daughter, and he loved her in the end. She bent over and kissed his brow. She couldn’t remember the last time she showed him any affection, but he still kept her around, left her an estate he wouldn’t be welcome on, and came riding in on a ship called Nesta. His eldest daughter. 

The monster he raised. 

Nesta gave in entirely to the bloodlust, surging the power around her like a second skin. Not a shield, just uncontrolled and excited. The grass around her rotted and died as she stood. Cassian let out a scream and she turned to see him on the ground again wings torn and bones broken. Hybern was toying with him.

Any more and he will die.

“Stop.” 

The king didn’t even turn all the way to her, just glanced over her shoulder and went back to using his magic to make Cassian writhe. Nesta angled her head, she hated being ignored. She hated when other people did it, she hated it now when her prey did. But fine, let him ignore her. “I’m going to kill you.” She didn’t say it with the usual rage. It was quite, settled, a statement of fact. 

“Really?” Hybern finally turned around to her. “Because I can think of  _ far _ more interesting things to do with you.” 

The power tugged at her fingers, coiling around, excited and ready. She stepped closer, flexing her fingers, waiting. The king got bored in seconds, snorting a dismissal of her threat and turning back to step on Cassian’s broken and bloody wing. The moment his foot touched down, Nesta let it all go. 

The power erupted from her like a geyser. She felt it yelp with joy as it destroyed everything in its path. The trees withered, died, and rotted away in seconds. The entire eastern flank of Hyberns army did the same. Along with the grass, the worms, the bugs, and anything unfortunate enough to be in her path. She assumed it included him. 

“Magnificent.” She whirled. He was still alive. He had moved, winnowed next to her, safe out of her way. “Barely trained, brash, but magnificent.” 

_ Fuck.  _ Nesta had made a mistake. She thought he was dismissing her. He wasn’t. He wanted to see what she could do, and falling for his goading, she had given him the opportunity to see it coming a mile away.  _ Can’t do that again. _ Nesta drew up the last bit of power she could, let it curl around her fingers, but she suppressed it, shielding it just under her skin. 

“Go.” Cassian could barely speak the words, but he was crawling to her now, trying with all his might to save her. “Go.” 

“This seems familiar,” She heard Hybern speak but was already rushing for Cassian. “Was it him or the other bastard who crawled to you that day?” 

“Don’t move.” she murmured in his ear, reaching over him. 

“Don’t go,” he begged as she stood in front of him, holding the sword in front of her. It was awkward and heavy in her hands, certainly a completely different beast that the sticks she used to spar the stableboys with. And even if it was the same, would a game played 15 years ago be any help here?    
  


Hybern chuckled and raised his sword. At least she wasn’t the only one easily baited. “Shall I see what the Illyrians taught you?”

_ Not this. _ Nesta thought as the king charged. He was faster, certainly faster than the stableboys. But she was able to jump back and block his sword with her own. That was good enough. She didn’t need to cut him down, she needed him to chase. 

And he did. He lunged and she dodged to the side, only her thigh cut, and not deep. He slashed and she jumped back, blocking up with the sword. 

“Nothing?” He sighed. “They taught you nothing?” He slashed down and she met it with her own blade, but then he snaked his around and suddenly she was holding nothing.  _ Well that’s expected.  _ He hit her across the face with the broad side of his blade. It rang through her head and she was one the ground. Before she could think again, Hybern was standing over her, sword sheathed. “Well? Is that all you have?” 

She let her answer be the strike he unleashed on his chest. She turned as fast as she could, letting her elbow slam him in the gut hard, she sent her blast of power through there. It sent him flying. She didn’t bother to watch or utter a pithy retort, though the sound of Hybern slamming into tree after tree was satisfying in and of itself. She needed to get to Cassian, she needed to get him out. 

She was at his side in an instant. “Get up,” she pulled at his shoulder. She was so weak, the Cauldron, using that much of her power, she didn’t have the strength left to lift him on her own. “ _ Get up!”  _ Cassian tried, bless him. But his arms gave out before there was much weight on them. She shot her hands under his shoulder, though, trying again. “You’re too heavy,” she kept trying to get him up. “He’s coming back. I can’t - he coming-” 

“Go.” He said as she tried to pick him up. The sounds of Hybern hitting trees stopped. No more time. She reached under his arms, trying to pull again. “Go!” he roared at her, the force of it pushing more blood from his wounds. 

“I can’t.” If he died, she’d die. She knew it. She could feel it. The moment that stupid bond snapped into place, she had tied her life to another’s. She couldn’t leave him if she tried. She couldn’t watch yet another person she loved die. “ _ I can’t, _ ” she repeated, one of her hands cupping his face, trying to get him to understand. 

His expression softened from panic to sorrowful longing. His hand reached up to hers, resting on her cheek. “I have no regrets in my life but this,” he whispered each word, “that we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” 

She kissed him or he kissed her or one of the two or both. But they kissed. It wasn’t what their first kiss was supposed to be. Their first kiss should have been heated, it should have been accompanied by more kisses. It should have had tongue and biting and been every sinful thing she ever thought about him. She should have felt the impression of his lips on hers for weeks after. It should not have been this chaste, desperate, depressing thing. It should not have made her cry. 

His head fell back, and his thumb brushed away her tears. “I will find you again in the next world- the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.”

The twigs crunched behind her and she looked and saw Hybern with his power ready at his fingertips. She turned back to Cassian, back to her big broken beautiful bat. She was empty. There was nothing left. There was no strategy, no plan, no power lef- 

A drop. 

A singular new drop of power splashed on the bottom of her well. It was cold and slimy and smelled like rust and rot and seaweed. He wasn’t going to do it with a sword, but with his magic. A gamble. A horrible gamble that she had to try. Nesta put her head on Cassain’s chest and covered him the best she could. 

“Romantic, but ill-advised,” she heard the words but did not look back. This had to work. Her last ploy. She heard him step close, felt him just behind her. Felt his power. Felt its slimy chill build, ready to destroy. Felt her own empty hunger for that disgusting magic. Felt the blood splash on her back as her sister’s voice rang through the clearing. 

“ _ Don’t you touch my sister!” _

Elain’s snarl drew Nesta’s attention. She looked up to see Elain backing away, staring at her hands, shocked at what she had down. Hybern’s eyes darted back and forth as he choked on his own blood. His hands began to twitch up. He’s not dead _. Let’s fix that.  _

Nesta stood, reaching behind to the hilt of Truth-Teller. She looked into his eyes and savored the fear there. With each inch she rotated the blade, blood spilled onto her as the power spilled into her. He had taken everything from her. Her future, her father, her humanity. And as Nesta removed his head from his neck and held it out in front of her, feeling the blood pour over her hands, she knew she had taken everything from him. His head, his power, and his victory. 

  
  



	50. Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over. They won. They should be celebrating, right?

“Nesta…” Elain’s quiet whisper of horror broke the intoxicating spell of death that had captivated Nesta, causing her to drop the head to the ground with an unceremonious wet thunk. Hybern was dead, the danger gone, now it was Cassian who needed attention. Nesta whipped around to the fallen general. He was still alive, for now. 

“We need to get him back to the camp, to the healers,” Nesta grit her teeth, kneeling again at Cassian’s side, hands flying to where his wings were pumping out pint after pint of blood. “I can set the leg, so you can walk with us,” Nesta said to him. “But I’ll need your help Elain, to-”

Nesta turned her head back to her sister as she spoke, catching Elain’s quiet gaze. The look on her face. Elain had looked at her like that only once before and it was unbearable then, too. Horror, disgust, grief, and heaven help her, fear. Nesta felt the pain of that look strike worse than Hybern’s sword had.

“Elain,” she said the name as a request. Begging her to stop, to please, for the love of all that is good, to stop looking at her like that. She was just.. It was just… it was what needed to be done. 

She didn’t enjoy it. 

_ liar _

Elain kept staring at her. Nesta shook her head. She couldn’t… this wasn’t the time for this. Cassian was still bleeding out under her hands. She could feel her voice breaking as she begged her sister. “Elain,  _ please _ . We have to hurry bef-” 

“It’s okay. Give her a moment,” Cassian’s gruff voice belied his generosity. Nesta was still on the verge of breaking as she turned to him. 

“You’re still bleeding out. We don’t have a moment.” 

“We do,” She had no idea when Azriel appeared, but he was already kneeling next to her, his siphons shining a dull dark blue. Cassian’s bleeding wing was slowed. “Get his leg.” Nesta reached out and straightened it, forcing the exposed bone back into place as she did so. A dark blue splint appeared around it, holding everything together and stymying the bleeding. Azriel looked exhausted already. But this small gesture he could do, and his power would hold. He and Nesta helped Cassian to a seated position. 

Nesta spoke to all of them. “We should still go. Hybern may have fallen, but his army remains-” 

“It’s already done.” Elain’s eyes were cloudy as she said the words, and as if on cue, a being of fantastic light and might shot across the sky. 

Nesta knew that power. She had felt it prod at her countless times. “Amren...”

Both Cassian and Azriel felt the same familiar power, each looking up in worry and confusion, asking variations on the same question: how. 

“The day is won,” Elains words were monotonous, detached, she had moved on from staring at Nesta to staring at her father’s body. 

Nesta made her way over to her sister. She extended a hand to Elain, only to have her sister shy away from it. Looking at her hands now, she could understand why one may not wish to be touched by it. So much blood covered her hands it looked as though she had dipped them in it. She tried to wipe it on her leathers, but more soaked the front of her so that did little to help. She gave up on trying to reach out, her words would have to be enough for now. 

“He found Vassa. He figured out the Queen’s betrayal before anyone else did.” 

“I know,” Elain breathed, but there was an aggression, an anger to her voice. “He was a better man than you ever gave him credit for.” 

Nesta swallowed hard. There wasn’t really a good answer for that. “We should still go. Get Cassian to the healers. We can come back.” 

“We need to clean him,” Elain answered, not talking about the Illyrian.

“We will. We can come back with water.” 

Elain didn’t look at her sister as she turned away and headed over to the others. She placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. Nesta swallowed and followed suit, allowing Azriel to transport them all back to camp. 

* * *

“Nesta,” her father said her name as barely more than a whisper. An outburst of his disbelief. “Nesta what happened?” 

The tears still fell from her eyes. Her face was wet and sticky and horrible. That stupid glass bottle had long broken into pieces in her hands. Her father walked over from where her mother lay on her bed, peaceful at last. 

“S-she told me to. S-she m-made me promise.” 

She opened her hand. The glass had cut horrible gashes in it. It hurt, but not so much. Not as much as everything else.

“What did you do,” he put his hands on her shoulders. “What did you do? Nesta! What did you do?!” He started shaking her. Nesta kept crying. She hadn’t felt her own age in so long. Too long. She was crying too hard. Too much. Her father wailed, calling her name over and over, anger coloring his grief. It frightened Nesta. She had never seen, had never known her father to ever raise his voice. But here he was. Shouting at her. Shaking her. Showing more emotion and dedication to his wife  _ now _ than he ever had. 

_ How dare he? _

“She was in pain!” Nesta snapped. “She was in pain and I begged you to do something about it! I  _ begged _ you! It was too late. She asked me. She begged me. She wanted it. She wanted it.” 

The slap on her face hurt. Not a good hurt, a  _ great _ hurt. “She’s your mother and she’s sick.” 

Nesta held her cheek, feeling the blood drip down her wrist as she turned back to him. “She’s not sick anymore.” 

Her father looked at her in utter horror and complete disbelief. “What kind of monster did I raise?”

* * *

Nesta stared at the scorch mark that used to be her father long after Elain and Feyre left. She didn’t understand. Her weak, pathetic father actually found the queen, raised an army, and tried to fight for her even as Hybern had him by the neck. 

_ crack _

All their fighting. All their long years of hating one another. And he actually died trying to defend her. 

_ crack _

There was no consistency. No truth to his character. On the one hand, he was too afraid of the Fae to even consider sending someone above the Wall to save her mother. Coward.  _ crack  _ He lost all their money in his greed and folly. Fool.  _ crack. _ He ignored Nesta’s warnings and advice out of anger. Vindictive.  _ crack. _ He let them starve. Lazy.  _ crack.  _ He told Feyre to never come back. Insensitive.  _ crack. _ He put her in charge of the estate. Accepting.  _ crack. _ He left her everything. Generous.  _ crack.  _ He discovered the betrayal before anyone else did. Shrewd.  _ crack. _ He found the queen and raised an army. Courageous.  _ crack. _ He said he loved her.  _ crack.  _ He apologized to her.  _ crack. _ He died defending her.  _ crack. _

Nesta curled inward, shaking with grief and anger. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any fucking sense. 

_ crack. _

She hated her father. 

Her useless fucking father, who turned a blind eye to how her mother disciplined them. Who stood by and simply watched her mother drink herself to death. Who was willing to let her carry on in torment for years because he was too afraid to do anything about it. Who hated her back for simply doing what no one else would- what her mother asked of her. Who let them starve and did  _ nothing _ . 

She loved her father. 

The man who snuck her out horseback riding. The man who used to hide her from the governess and mother when she came in covered in mud. The man who curled up with her and Elain on each leg and read to them. The man who always had a smile and kind words for his daughters, whose pride and joy was their savvy charms and intelligence. The man who, despite his own outrage, never told a soul what she had done. 

She stood there for hours, trying and failing to reconcile the truth. Trying to find gratitude and peace but losing it to anger and grief. This was it. This was the end. He gave her everything she wanted and it wasn’t enough. He had raised an army and it wasn’t enough. He had died for her and it wasn’t enough. He apologized and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to erase her hatred. Because it wasn’t what she needed. 

She needed his forgiveness. She needed absolution. She needed her father alive.

Nesta’s cry of grief could no doubt be heard for miles. 

* * *

  
  


When Nesta finally went back to camp, she didn’t talk. She didn’t look for Azriel or her sisters or even Cassian. She found him, of course, because she went right to the medical tents to get to work, and he was unconscious on a table, getting his bones fixed. Nesta nodded to Mor who was sitting vigil beside him and approached Valsa instead. 

“What needs done?” 

Valsa turned to her, and Nesta realized she was crying. The old crone used her apron to wipe the tears away. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“What is it?” 

“They finally released the list of the survivors.” Looking around, Nesta could see that almost every camp-mother was in tears. Gillie was even on her knees behind Valsa. “Normally it’s a list of the fallen, but…”  _ but the Cauldron wiped out so many. _

There was no point in asking if Valsa knew any of the dead. She was bound to. Half the Illyrian soldiers were wiped out in an instant, without so much as a body to bury or burn or say good-bye to. More died in the course of battle, before Amren unleashed herself and massacred Hybern’s forces. Valsa pulled herself together. “Take over Gillie’s work,” she patted the girl’s head. “Her mate died and my daughter no longer finds herself fit to work.” 

Nesta swallowed and nodded. She hadn’t known Gillie’s relationship to Valsa. She hadn’t asked. She got to work. 

There were certainly many among the camp-mothers who, like Gillie, could not bring themselves to work. But most continued their duties through their tears. The grieving solemnity was reflected in the soldiers they tended. No buzz, no gossip, none of the snarky, sexist, borderline ridiculous remarks she was used to. They won the damn war, but if all you saw was the Illyrian camp, you’d think they just lost. 

In a twisted way, this was a comfort. A joyous tent would have just set her teeth on edge. Nesta just spent the better part of three hours trying and failing to come to terms with her father’s death. She belonged with this melancholy much more than the celebration and smiles in the adjacent camps.  _ What kind of sick fucker is comforted by other’s grief?  _

She passed by where Cassian was sleeping once or twice, but it wasn’t long until he was removed to his tent to rest. She tried not to dwell on him. He was fine. He was alive. She could feel it, feel him on the other end of that ridiculous bond. Instead she focused on the task at hand. She cleaned wounds, dressed minor injuries with salve, and disposed of used bandages. When the food finally came around for them Nesta accepted it, but she couldn’t find an appetite. Instead she knelt by Gillie, now left alone as her mother was busy elsewhere, placing the bowl at her feet. 

“You should eat something.” The younger Illyrian woman shook her head, Nesta pressed on, “You  _ should _ , when you can.” 

Gillie just wiped the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since before Nesta arrived back. “Shouldn’t you?” 

“I will, later.”

“With your mate, right? Because he’s still alive.” The words were sharp, but shallow. The barbs of a grieving widow that could easily be brushed off and immediately forgiven. And Nesta did forgive them. But she, for some reason, couldn’t brush them off.

She didn’t go see Cassian that night.

* * *

Nesta agreed to help with Feyre’s stupid meeting, even agreed to stay when she was asked. Lots of talking and lots of bloviating and no decisions, no progress. They wanted a treaty but got “open channels of dialogue” instead. Whatever. Without a representative of Hybern - whoever was still alive on that god-forsaken island - and the Queens, it would all be meaningless anyway. 

The house had been picked clean, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her from wandering the halls. A wooden carving had been left on the floor of the foyer, maybe there was more elsewhere. The kitchen was destroyed, the bedrooms gutted and burned, the parlors slashed and scorched. One room remained. Nesta held her breath and opened the door. 

The study looked untouched. 

She walked in, slowly. The couches were left alone. The side tables still had their tchotchkes. The shelves were still all lined with fake books. And her desk. It was still grand and covered in paperwork. She sat down behind it and placed the carved figure on top. She noted a letter sitting there, written in an extraordinarily ornate script, with flowers decorating the sides, addressed to her. She recognized the penmanship immediately and lost her breath. 

With a shaky hand, Nesta opened the letter. 

> _ Nesta  _
> 
> _ There are actions for which apologies can never be enough. What I have done here, in this house, is such an action. I had no joy in it. I had no wish to succeed. I admit when you produced the ashwood spear I hoped you would have breached Ianthe’s heart.  _
> 
> _ I never considered myself your enemy. Or an enemy of humans. In my years of service, it was my job to watch and intervene and sometimes kill or cover up, but never with malice. I have always found you all to be as fascinating as you are confounding. I have no love for your species, but I bear you no hatred either.  _
> 
> _ I am a proud member of the Spring Court and I do what I am ordered to do for the sake of my Court, without question, even if they are unsavory to me. When Ianthe ordered me to act, I was bound to obey as I have every order given to me. This... It was the first time I honestly wished to fail my mission, the first time I acted to aid my target. We did not fail, however, and I did as I was ordered.  _
> 
> _ I cannot apologize for this action in any way that will bring solace for what has been done. I can only say this. No one left in this house died suffering or scared, nor were they left abandoned. You may find their bodies in the garden, buried and marked under the rose bushes your sister so masterfully tended.  _
> 
> _ I will also offer you this. If we ever meet again, I will not begrudge you your right to end my life.  _
> 
> _ Azalea _

Nesta read and re-read the letter. It was not an apology, it was a permission slip. Azalea was giving her license to kill him if and when she so chose. She folded up the letter and slipped it in her dress. Looking out the window, she couldn’t tell you where the roses were once growing. Hybern’s raiding party had seen to its destruction. 

Nesta took a deep breath in. It was subtle -enough that Nesta didn’t notice it at first, but this room smelled of pollen. Azalea had to have glamoured it then, sure that no one but her would find it. Nesta looked back at the room around her, spared only because some plant decided to grow a conscience after massacring innocents. 

Her lip drew up into a snarl. There was no reason to kill everyone. If it hated the order so much, why go through with it at all? Why not just change their memories? If kidnapping the sisters was the goal, why not just take them from their beds in the night? 

_ It was a test,  _ she realized. Ianthe had wanted to test her. To see if she was really resistant to glamours, to see if Elain would stand up to them, to know if the sisters would survive the Cauldron. It… Azalea had aided her by giving her warnings in those flowers. Telling her to act natural, to just say yes and act like a glamoured idiot. She didn’t. She chose to be stubborn. To circumvent the glamours and it… 

Azalea might have done the deed, killing her staff, but Nesta in her stubbornness sealed their fate.

* * *

Nesta wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t. She absolutely wasn’t. 

So why?

Why did it hurt so much? 

Why did she want to curl up and cry? 

Why did she want to punch someone? She knows better than to do that. She knows better than to raise her voice or to incite violence. She was taught better than that. Her  _ mother _ taught her better than that. 

She was her mother’s Little Lady. She knew how to act. She knew how to behave. She knew it. She was smart. She was clever. She was strong. She was everything she was raised to be. That was exactly,  _ exactly _ , why her mother had asked  _ her _ to do it. She knew that. She was proud. She was happy her mother trusted her so much to ask her to. 

So Why? 

Why did she hate her for it? 

Why did she want to bring her back and beat her to death for making her kill her? Fucking hell. Why? 

Nesta stormed around her room, screaming into her pillow and throwing her books around. Ignoring the pain in her newly bandaged hand every time she picked something up. There was no containing this… this rage. She couldn’t reign it in. She couldn’t stop. Everything hurt and everything was wrong and nothing could stop the pain. Nothing.

It hurt. 

She hurt. 

What do you do when it all hurts too much? What do you do when you can’t fix it? 

She knew exactly what to do. 

Her mother taught her that, too. 

* * *

Nesta was on the floor of her room back in the townhouse. Being back in Velaris was a cruel joke. They arrived to an untouched townhouse, sitting on a street filled with everyday people, jolly street vendors, and laughing children. She honestly didn’t know what she expected. Something, anything to be different. But they were only gone what, a week? Week and a half? Of course everything was just as perfectly happy as before. 

The bottle of brandy she swiped on the way up sat empty next to her. She lay on the plush carpet and stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t looked at it before. It was white, no, cream. Solidly painted with detailed crown molding. She looked for a single flaw, a crack, something that wasn’t perfect. 

Of course there was nothing. 

Nothing. 

Did she look like her father, laying like this, staring at nothing? Was this what death was like? If she got another bottle, another ten bottles, and she drank them all and closed her eyes, would she know what her mother felt in the end? If she grabbed a belt and wrapped it around her throat, would she know how Jenny felt? 

She drew her knife, considering it. If she stabbed it into her heart, would she know what those Illyrian guards felt? She turned it in, towards her heart, and then threw it across the room. No, they were impaled in so many places. She couldn’t recreate that if she tried. But the other Illyrians… 

They were burned into dust. She had done that to Hybern’s forces, too. Maybe… 

She felt a tug on her bond. She felt the concern coming down it. She ignored it. 

She didn’t have a lot. Not nearly as much as she once did. Once there was so much it was an ocean you could dive into forever. Now it barely came to her waist. But it was refilling. She could feel it. Most of it was Hybern’s thick slime, but some, a fraction, was new, generic power, slowly filling drop by drop by drop. 

A harder tug on the bond. She ignored it. 

Instead she stirred Hybern’s power, letting it flare and gather around her. She brought it to her hands. Holding her hand over her face, she marvelled at the white-silver magic that engulfed it. Inside, in the well, it was still sludge, but here, as she used it, it was the same as what she stole from the Cauldron. She smiled, no matter where she sourced it, the power was her power now. And her power was 

_ Princess of Rot  _

_ Child of Destruction _

_ Lady of Decay _

Death. 

The power gathered more. Flared more, just above her face. Just a thought. Just a single thought she could release it. She could let it all go. 

The bond was shaking now, panic racing down it. She could feel the shouts, her name being called over and over and over.  _ Nesta! Nesta! Nesta! _

It was annoying, she remembered thinking. And it was unfair. That she should keep her mate while she did nothing to save GIllie’s or anyone else’s. 

She didn’t even realize that she had released the power at first. She just thought Cassian had felt her annoyance and shut up. 

* * *

Cassian was sitting with Azriel and Morrigan. The three of them were sharing a drink, trying to remember how to be people again after everything. They were talking about nothing important, just theorizing about where they should get dinner. They should go out. The first day back in Velaris, there was no way they were going to eat in. 

He had felt an intense sadness, self-loathing, down the bond.  _ Nesta. _ There had been nothing but grief and melancholy on the other end of the bond for days now. But that was to be expected. She had just lost her father. But this… this was worse. This was deeper, and it was directed. He tugged back on the bond.  _ Nothing. _ He tugged harder. It only got worse. He was on his feet now, he had to go. He had to go to her now. He was an idiot for waiting for her to come to him. He was shouting down the bond, frantic, desperate, he needed her to hold off, to hold on, wait until- 

And then he couldn’t remember why he was on his feet, or what he was worried about. He cocked his head, feeling his chest. Something was… missing. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Thank you so much for reading this fic with me. 
> 
> I decided to end this fic here way way back when I made my initial outline. In my view, this fic was never about covering what happened plot point by plot point, but of examining everything Nesta is, was, and felt that brought her to the state we see her in during the beginning of Silver Flames. It's why I was vague about /where/ in cannon I would end. Nesta hits this low point, and doesn't leave it. Whatever happened in Frost and Starlight, what ever /will/ happen until Silver Flames, it doesn't matter, because she's in this same fugue state, drunk and alone. 
> 
> Thank you to AbsentMinds, FaeriesAreReal, Timmy, Toasterchan, Mel and Melphs for being regular commenters spurring me on as I undertook this long and kinda super depressing project. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr and Twitter at Saphie3243. Also check out Special Chapters for some updates. I plan on posting a lore chapter soon (like next two days) and will be uploading alternate POVs as the mood strikes me.


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